


Some Clear Jellyfish Don't Sting

by gloria_andrews



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/pseuds/gloria_andrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is starting grad school in New York City in the fall and when his best friend Niall Horan finds out, he invites Louis to spend the summer with him on the end of Long Island, at the house of their childhood friend, Harry Styles.  Louis hasn't seen Harry in years, not since he was sixteen and Harry was fourteen and Harry had a somewhat massive crush on him.  What will happen when they meet again?  Will the tables be turned????</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I am fairly sure there will be 4 chapters. 
> 
> Sorry if they all sound super American. I am American, so that's always a problem for me. 
> 
> Thank you to Bobo, even though you will never read this, for making me laugh by suggesting ridiculous Niall related plot ideas because you know nothing about his personality. And also to RAOTS for supporting my endeavors even though I whine about stuff like, all the time. 
> 
> feedback appreciated! Thank you for reading. I am on tumblr too!! as [gloriaandrews](http://gloriaandrews.tumblr.com/)

“Have you ever dug for mussels?” Harry was looking at Louis from across the living room, standing behind the breakfast bar in the kitchen. He moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and leaned against the counter on one arm.

Louis looked up from his book, blinking quickly, “I—” He started, clearly his throat and closing the paperback over his finger. “I thought—Niall said you were going to…”

Harry made a face and shrugged, “Changed my mind.  Didn’t want to drive.”

“Oh,” Louis said.  He shifted on the couch, tucking his legs up under his body.  He wouldn’t have snuck into the main house if he’d known Harry was going to be there. Niall had said to make himself at home, Harry had too, raid the fridge, read the books, watch TV.  But Niall had known Harry forever and he’d been living in his pool house for months, Niall didn’t feel like a guest.  Louis did, obviously.  Not in the pool house, though, that felt like Niall’s. So Louis could flop around on the beds and put his feet up on the musty old couch and it was fine.  Here he was still perching on the furniture, not quite at ease, he couldn’t sink in all the way yet, couldn’t fully relax.  But the pool house didn’t have air conditioning, and the main house did, so there he was.

“Didn’t answer my question.” Harry pointed out.

Louis blinked more, and looked down at the cover of his book. He was afraid he’d blush if he held Harry’s stare much longer.

“Mussels?” He squeaked.

Harry nodded, chuckling, “Yeah, dug for mussels.” He reiterated, smiling.  His eyes were glittering in the dim light of the kitchen, it was mid afternoon and the sun was already on the other side of the house, behind him.  

“No.” Louis said, feeling a little unsure of what he was getting in to, “No, I can’t say that I have.”

When Louis had told Niall he’d been accepted to grad school in New York, the acting program at Tisch, Niall had been ecstatic. 

“That is fucking amazing, mate.  Fucking amazing. Congratulations,” He’d shouted down the phone.  Louis could hear that he was bouncing around whatever room his was in with sheer delight. “When do you start? The fall? You gotta come stay here, before. With me and Harry, you’ve gotta! You’ll love it, Lou. You will _love_ it. It’s relaxing as fuck.”

Niall had been staying with his childhood friend, Harry, in a house on the end of Long Island since the beginning of April. Harry had a studio in the basement and they were working on an album. The rural setting was theoretically supposed to prevent them from getting distracted while they worked on it, but they were sometimes playing gigs in the city anyway, together and apart.

“Where are you exactly?” Louis had asked.

“The North Fork,” Niall said, through whatever food he’d just shoved in his mouth.

Louis still had no idea what that meant.

“Just fly into JFK or LaGuardia or whatever. Harry has a car. I’ll come get you.”

So, since he’d had no other engagements, Louis had arrived, mid-July, several days before, and Niall had driven him east about two hours, to a beautiful old house on a bluff, the back of which over looked a bay. They had dropped Louis’s duffle bag off in the pool house, he was having the rest of his stuff shipped over later, and then gone to see Harry.

“Come on,” Niall had said, nodding toward the big house, which was on the other side of the pool, across a lawn of patchy brown grass, “He can’t wait to see you.”

Niall’s parents had been friends with Harry’s forever, and Harry had spent several summers with them in Doncaster, from the time he was eleven until he was fourteen. Louis and Harry had been friends back then too, through Niall.  Louis always remembered Harry as sort of pudgy and cuddly and dimply and always giggling and he smiled, thinking about it, as he and Niall skirted the row of lounge chairs at the edge of the pool. The last summer Harry’d come to stay, Louis had been sixteen, and Harry had developed a ferocious crush on him. He’d followed Louis around more than ever, blinking at him with his wide green eyes and blushing when Louis teased him. It had been nice, gratifying in the way it always is when someone likes you, but also a bit unnerving, because Louis had still been struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was gay. As he and Niall approached the sliding glass door to the back of the house, Louis had to shake his head to rid thoughts of it from his mind, a strange sense of nervousness flitting through him.

Louis hadn’t seen Harry since that summer, he’d just heard life updates from Niall every once in a while, so he wasn’t exactly prepared when he first saw him again. Wasn’t prepared at all, really. Not for the way Harry unfolded his never-ending body as he got up off the couch and ambled over to where Louis and Niall stood at the doorway, enveloping Louis in a hug with his albatross-wingspan arms.

“Louis!” Harry had hooted, delighted.

What on earth had happen to Harry Styles’s torso? Louis wondered, feeling bewildered and a little blindsided, as Harry’s hug lifted him slightly off the ground. Harry was still dimply, was maybe still giggly, maybe still cuddly, but he was definitely no longer pudgy, not at all.  He’d grown up long waisted and long-legged, and so so lean. He still had lovely dark, curly hair, pink bow lips and those ridiculous green doe eyes, but he was no longer child and Louis felt like an idiot for expecting one. _He’s 23 for Christ sakes_ , Louis thought, _what the fuck did you think?_ Harry’s clothes looked effortlessly stylish, black jeans a perfect fit, slouchy t-shirt showing off a touch of collarbones, his watch a shade too big, jangling around his wrist when he moved. He was so gorgeous that Louis reacted to seeing him like he was looking at one of those maddeningly effective advertisements for something expensive.  The rare kind that actually make you wistful and mildly dissatisfied with your life, even though you know it’s stupid.  So stupid. But somehow you can’t help feeling like, why am I not more glamorous and beautiful and rich? Why couldn’t that be me? Louis suddenly wanted to climb into this advertisement that Harry was from and live there with him. They could relax on a deck as the sun went down and have a barbeque while wearing fabrics that cost too much money and make other people jealous and Harry’s pale and beautiful hand could rest on Louis’s knee for all eternity. Yeah, that’d be fine.

“It’s so great to see you again.” Harry had said, his voice rumbling out, deep and slow and Louis hadn’t been ready for that either. _Jesus Christ._ He’d barely been able to nod in response.

Harry hadn’t been around much the next couple of days.  Louis had been avoiding interacting with him too much, anyway.  He felt certain that he if spent too much time around Harry he’d start staring and then he’d start talking, and he wouldn’t be able to stop. Louis would be stupid about his intense attraction to Harry, he could already tell. Boy, oh boy, had the tables turned. Louis could just feel it coming.  He’d be overeager, his voice too bright, he’d try to get a reaction out of Harry by any means possible.  He’d be annoying. He’d annoy himself. He was trying to delay it as long as possible, trying to buy some time so he could maybe get some semblance of a handle on the situation. He didn’t want to embarrass himself while he was a guest at Harry’s house! They were childhood friends. They would just continue to be friends. Louis needed to relax, no matter how long of leg or defined of jaw Harry might be.

He’d done ok so far, successfully accepting a lemonade from Harry like a normal human-being on Thursday afternoon, sitting by the pool as Niall flailed around in the deep end, forcing Louis to grade his synchronized swimming moves. 

“Remembered you liked raspberry,” Harry had said proudly, dimpling as he handed Louis the glass.

Louis kind of wanted to die right there on the chaise lounge, be put out of his misery, please, because Harry was right, raspberry lemonade was his favorite. Harry had always been so irritatingly considerate, even when they were kids. This was maybe going to be a torturous month and a half.

“Thanks,” Louis said, smiling weakly. He felt a little lightheaded. From the sun, obviously.  He’d hid in the pool house all evening, pretending he was still jet lagged.

But now Niall was gone for the weekend, he had two gigs playing guitar at some impossibly hipster bar in Brooklyn and Louis had felt too tired for that kind of atmosphere, so he hadn’t tagged along. Harry was supposed to be gone too, had some kind of rich person’s event to go to in the Hamptons, Niall said. But there he was instead, standing in his kitchen looking completely beautiful, asking Louis about his experience collecting mollusks.

“Niall hasn’t taken you over to the cove yet, has he?” Harry asked, he turned to the sink and drew a glass of water before yanking the freezer open and dropping in a few ice cubes.

Louis shook his head, wordlessly, biting his lip.  

“Let’s go, yeah?” Harry said, his eyebrows raised at Louis, a hopeful look on his face. The ice cubes tinkled against the glass as he set it down on the counter. “Hopefully the tide is out…” He looked up and to the left as he thought it over. “I think it is…” Then he nodded again, confirming internally, and turned back to Louis with a smile, eyes bright and enthusiastic, “It’s just on the other side of the point, we can walk. We’ll have them for dinner!” Harry’s house was on a small peninsula that extended south, out into two bays, the Little Peconic to East, which the back of the house faced, and the Great Peconic to the West.  Nassau Point, it was called. Louis had seen it on the beautiful old nautical map of the area that Harry had framed on the wall in the living room.

“Oh, do you like seafood?” Harry said, suddenly looking a little stricken, a line forming between his eyebrows, his fingers at his lips, “I didn’t even think.”

Louis nodded, getting to his feet, trying to ignore how charmed and attracted he was by Harry’s bafflingly combination of slinky slouchy sex appeal and cherubic adorability. “No, I do.” He said, “I like seafood. And I mean, I love butter, so.” He smiled a little and shrugged, still fussing with the edges of the pages of the tattered paperback he’d been reading. _Plum Island_ , it was called. He tentatively met Harry’s gaze.

“Right! Right!” Harry said, laughing, his eyes lighting up further, “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of that!”  He looked Louis up and down then, seemingly completely oblivious to the tint it brought to Louis’s cheeks. “That’s fine, what you’re wearing!” He pronounced, as he turned and marched out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs, “I’ll just go get changed quick and we’ll be on our way!”

“Ok.” Louis said weakly, sinking back down onto the couch.  His heartbeat had quickened at the thought of spending all this time alone with Harry. He needed to get a grip. Louis might have been avoiding Harry all week, might have been coaching himself to remember that this attraction was most likely entirely one sided, but he was also a normal, self-absorbed person, so he hadn’t been able to prevent himself from entertaining fantasies where Harry thought he was the greatest, as well.  Specifically, during a moment of weakness, maybe he’d already pictured the two of them preparing a seafood dinner together in the dimly lit kitchen, Harry in a loose knit sweater with the sleeves rolled back, his forearms looking amazing as he cracked open a beer, tossing his beautiful head back while laughing at everything Louis said and then teasing him for being a complete incompetent when it came to cooking, his eyes sparkling with affection.  This mussel collecting trip and subsequent dinner plan might have been hitting a little close to home. Of course these daydreams usually ended with Harry snaking his arm around Louis’s waist and kissing him on the mouth, maybe more, so he should probably stop thinking about it as soon as possible for his own sanity. 

“Be cool.” He whispered as he got up to look around the living room for his discarded flip-flops.  He winced when he realized he’d actually said that out loud, rolling his eyes and rubbing at his brow.  As embarrassing as it was, he probably needed to hear it.

About ten minutes later, after Harry had come back down stairs in a ratty t-shirt and a pair of small white mesh shorts that made Louis want to kill himself and had bumbled around in the pantry before triumphantly emerging with an empty gallon ice cream bucket, the were finally off.

“’s this way.” Harry said, gesturing up the road to the right while shuffling along in his flip-flops. Louis nodded, trailing after him a little. It was about three o’clock and hot and humid and Harry’s hair was extra curly where it was escaping from the ridiculous little mini ponytail on the top of his head and it was so cute that Louis couldn’t look at him all the way, so he pretended to be doing a survey of the elaborate landscaping the more lavish homes had.  I mean, wow that was some well-edged grass.  That’s what he’d say if Harry asked.

They turned left as the reached the crest of the second hill, down what looked to be a very poorly maintained gravel road.  It was a little strange to Louis, because at times it seemed as though they were actually just on a path that cut right through other people’s back yards, but Harry kept on going, traipsing along, humming to himself and swinging the ice cream bucket like he didn’t have a care in the world. So Louis didn’t have any warning when Harry stopped short as then came around a little bend, making a garbled noise of frustration and annoyance, oblivious to the fact that Louis had just walked right into him and pretty much bounced off his back.  

“What is it?” Louis asked, completely confused.  Harry didn’t respond.  He kept standing there on a scraggily patch of grass in the middle of the little road, shaking his head and scowling.  His eyes were dark, brows knit together and he was murmuring angrily under his breath. He was fuming. Louis followed his eye line, trying to figure out what had made him so upset.  It appeared that there was a chain link fence in the middle of the pathway, blocking their forward progress.

“This is fucking bullshit!” Harry said, finally turning to Louis.  He gestured toward the fence, “These fucking pricks, Louis. Putting up a fence in the middle of the god damn right of way. I swear to god.”

“What?”

“This is a right of way! We have a right to walk on it!” He stomped off toward the fence, as if he needed to get mad right next to it, “I’m calling the property owners association as soon as we get back.”

“I don’t really…” Louis trailed off, still thoroughly confused.

Harry rolled his eyes at the fence again and then turned to Louis to explain, “Ok, so like if you own property on Nassau Point then you’re a member of the Nassau Point Property Owners Association and you have the right to use all the right of ways on the Point! It’s so everyone has access to the water! Even people who don’t like, live right on the water, they still have access to it, you know? They’re like paths. Or stairs. Like this is a right of way.” He gestured to the pathetic gravel road behind them and then forward through the fence. “But lately, all these dicks have been coming out here and like building huge ugly houses and trying to block off the right of ways. And it drives me fucking nuts. Like, ‘oh rules don’t apply to me, I’m too rich!’ or whatever. Fuck you!” Harry said, making a dismissive motion with one of his oversized hands. He gave an angry sigh.

“What so they just broke the rule and had this fence built, then?” Louis said, feeling indignant himself now.

“uh huh!” Harry said, his eyes bulging in annoyance.

“That is so fucking unfair.”

“I know!” Harry said, he started sort of bashing the ice cream pail against the chain link.

Louis smirked, “Someone should get some step ladders, so people can just climb over really easy, put one on each side.”

Harry started to laugh, “That’s a good idea, Louis!” he shook his head, still laughing a little, “I mean, even if no one uses them, it’s like we're still sending a message.”

Louis nodded, smiling.

Harry started laughing more, “See, this is why you were always Captain of Adventure Squad.”

Louis burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I hadn’t thought of that in years.” He shook his head, “Adventure Squad…” he snorted, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was Captain because I’m oldest.” And bossiest, he could hear Niall say in his head.

“A natural leader,” Harry said, magnanimously, grinning at Louis, “You were the idea man!”

Adventure Squad was what Louis and Niall and Harry had called themselves whenever they roamed around in the woods nearby Louis and Niall’s houses when they were kids.  They made each other Adventure Squad friendship bracelets out of embroidery floss in what they deemed “manly” colors and had an elaborate secret handshake, only maybe a third of which Louis could remember. Mostly they just ran into the forest screaming “Adventure Squad!” at the top of their lungs while doing leaps into the air.

“Oh you mean utterly brilliant things like ‘let’s move this log from here to there?’” Louis asked, chuckling. 

“We made a bridge out of that log!” Harry said, his face lighting up at the memory.

One of their last Adventure Squad adventures had involved moving a relatively small log from where it was wedged it the crotch of a tree, over to the creek, so it could be used as a bridge to a large rock in the middle of the stream. It had seemed fairly straightforward at first, but it had ended up taking them over four and a half hours before they’d gotten it right. They’d all fallen into the water at least twice and Harry had ripped his shorts and it had been so incredibly satisfying when they were finished. Two days later there was a storm and the log had been swept away.

“Yeah, we did.” Louis said, feeling weirdly proud about it, ten years later.

“That was a great day.” Harry said, his voice full of warmth. Louis hadn’t thought about it in a very long time, but it had been a great day, perfect really. The exact right combination of sweat and dirt and teamwork and hilarious physical disasters and also triumph.  He remembered how they’d tried to explain it to Niall’s dad afterward, about how great this log-moving project had been, but it had turned out that it wasn’t explainable, after all. They’d moved a log fifty feet.  It felt like they’d won the Olympics. 

Louis glanced over at Harry again and felt a strange swirl of emotion, an oddly familiar vulnerability, when he saw that the look on Harry’s face had changed. He was staring through the fence and chewing the inside of his lip, a faraway look in his eyes.  Louis wondered if Harry was thinking about when he’d come back the following summer, when Louis had been 15, and how by then Louis had started to feel like he was too old for Adventure Squad.  How Louis had been mildly embarrassed by Niall and Harry’s enthusiasm for it, hadn’t wanted to holler it quite so loudly, hadn’t wanted to spend quite so many hours with them in the woods. Louis shook his head and sighed, trying to snap out of it, he’d accidentally started longing for times and places and things it was impossible to get back to.

Harry seemed to return to the present at the same time as Louis, blinking rapidly for a moment and then turning to him, “Well,” He said, tossing the bucket over the fence, “Shall we?” and then Harry scaled it, grunting as he did so, limbs flailing everywhere, his feet hitting the ground with a graceless thwump. Louis stifled a laugh. It was nice to see that at least some of Harry’s klutziness had followed him into adulthood.  On second thought, maybe that added to his appeal.  Louis frowned and hopped the fence himself.

They walked for about five minutes on an actual road before turning down someone’s driveway, which Harry quickly explained lead to another right of way.

“See, these nice people don’t mind.” He said, as they passed a tennis court and a very well manicured lawn.

“Wow, yeah.” Louis said dryly, as they turned onto an incredibly overgrown path about halfway up the drive, “red carpet.”

Harry let out a bark of a laugh, ducking under the low hanging branches as they made their way down the trail. “Well, at least there’s no fence.”

“It’s their driveway,” Louis pointed out skeptically.

“They could put up a gate,” Harry mused.

Louis shrugged, that was a good point. They struggled through the brush and out onto a beach of coarse sand, which surrounded what Louis could only assume was the cove that Harry had been referring to.  The water was calm, barely lapping against the shore, a spit of land separating it from the larger bay to the south, and it was dotted with sailboats that were moored there due to the wind protection. It was bigger than Louis had expected, the beach bending gently around the water to the north for maybe a mile, houses lining its curve.

“Here we are!” Harry brightly, opening his arms as if presenting Louis with a large gift. He’d kicked off his flip-flops and walked forward until he was standing in about two inches of water.  Louis felt irrationally annoyed about being reminded Harry had ankles. Slender ones. Attached to his legs, which also existed. Harry put his hands on his hips, expression turning serious, “Now, Lou,” he said, his use of the nickname making a stupid warmth spread in Louis’s chest, “before we go any further, I feel I should warn you, you are about to partake in a criminal enterprise.”  

Louis snorted. “What?”

“I am sorry to say that I did not secured licenses for the collection of mollusks from the state of New York for either of us, so what we are about to do is illegal and if you want to back out now, I completely understand.” He gestured to a boulder the size of a baby buffalo, near the edge of the water to their right, “I think you can claim plausible deniability if you just sit on that rock over there while I go and collect our dinner.”

Louis shook his head laughing, “Oh, so you lured me down here to commit thievery, Styles?”

Harry smirked and shrugged, “Maybe.” He said, eyes twinkling.

“Well, who’s the Captain of Adventure Squad, now then, huh?” Louis asked, arching a brow.

Harry jerked his head back in delight, placing a hand on his chest as if touched, smiling broadly, “Are you really willing to bestow me with that honor?”

Louis scrunched up his face, apologetically, “Now that I think of it, I believe protocol dictates that Niall vote as well.”

Harry let out a truly appreciative laugh at that, clapping his hands once or twice, because at one point they’d actually created a notebook with Adventure Squad Standard Operating Procedures in it, and the selection of Captain had definitely been covered.

“What nerds!” He said, gleefully, “I wonder what ever happened to the notebook.” He grinned at Louis as he came out of the water, standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.  

Louis shrugged, “Probably got thrown out somewhere along the way.” That was a lie. Louis had it, in his childhood bedroom at his mum’s in Doncaster. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told the truth, it felt too revealing somehow, even though he knew Harry would love it that he’d kept it. Louis sighed and, like he was being incredibly generous, said, “But, I guesssss it’d be ok for you to be honorary captain for the day, seeing as you organized this dangerous and thrilling expedition and all.”

Harry beamed; clearly genuinely pleased with this ridiculous pronouncement and Louis felt a little tug of longing inside of him. He’d forgotten really, how lovely Harry could be, how much fun they’d had together, that hadn’t seemed to have changed at all. Louis shook his head almost imperceptibly at the thought. Harry’s simple loveliness might have been something he’d purposely tried to forget over the years.  That and other things. Louis shook his head again, trying to push it from his mind. He didn’t want to think about any of that right now, wouldn’t let himself.

“Well, follow me, lieutenant!” Harry crowed, gesturing with his ice cream pail and breaking Louis out of his small reverie. Harry slid his flip-flops back on and headed down the beach, the thwapping of the sandals against the soles of his feet sending little plumes of sand up into the air as he walked. “Mussels are this way!”

Louis bit his lip over a smile and did as he was told.

           

A couple of hours later, having collected almost a full gallon of mussels off the rocks and from the reeds that surround the cove, Harry and Louis were back at the house. It had been a bit of a momentary problem-solving struggle, figuring out how to hoist the bucket back over the fence in the middle of the right of way. Then they had determined that Harry should climb the fence and reach over to retrieve it from Louis, instead of the other way around. The other way made Louis feel uneasy, like Harry might let go too early and just drop the all the mussels on his head. Louis couldn’t help but notice that Harry seemed to take a little pleasure in the fact the Louis had ended up shorter than him. He hadn't said anything out loud, but there had been a bit of a smirk.   

“So,” Harry said, glancing at his watch as he set the mussels on the counter. “Showers then eat?”  Louis nodded. He felt this strange twinge inside of him as he shuffled back over to the pool house, wondering what he should wear.  _Shorts and a T-shirt, you moron_ , he hissed at himself internally, _this isn’t a date_. They’d just spent the afternoon together quite companionably, getting to be friends again. Louis had managed not to stare too openly when Harry had removed his shirt, hadn’t let his gaze linger for too long on the line of his spine when he bent over to grab another mussel.  And he’d also somehow managed to reign in the Attack Flirt side of himself that he’d been so terrified would come out.  They’d had conversation, nice natural conversation, all afternoon. And it had been fun. Very fun. And, ok, maybe that was part of what was making Louis feel a little nervously hopeful, like before a date, but he didn’t want acknowledge that all the way yet, he’d rather struggle to ignore it for the time being.

It was getting increasingly difficult to do so, though, because of Harry being Harry. When Louis got back over to the house, Harry was busying uncorking a bottle of white wine, his wet curls slipping into his eyes. He was wearing a soft button down shirt, open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. He looked stunning and like he’d walked straight out of one of Louis stupid fantasies and Louis cursed himself for being so particular about details when he was daydreaming. _I am not normal_. He thought. _I am weird_. Couldn’t he just imagine someone seducing him without knowing what kind of fabric their shirt was made out of??? Couldn’t he?? Damn his stupid overactive imagination!

“Lou?” He heard Harry say, coming back to reality with a little start, he must have been completely zoned out.

He raised his eyebrows at Harry in response.

“Do you like pinot grigio?” It was clear this was not the first time Harry had asked, just the first time Louis had heard the question.

Louis nodded wordlessly, coming up to sit on stool at the counter across from Harry.

Harry smiled, as he poured them each a glass. “Good, Niall kind of hates it. Won’t really drink wine with me, for the most part.”

“Pints.” They said together, fondly. Louis felt his stomach flip-flop as their eyes met.

“We should go on a wine tour!” Harry said, as he turned his attention to the stove, lighting the burner under the pot he’d dumped all the mussels into. “At some point.” He scrunched his face up, “Robin told me his favorite, ‘course now I can’t remember.”

“Tern's Provenance?” Louis asked, picking at the label on the bottle before him.

“Yeah!” Harry said, “How’d you know?”

Louis turned the bottle toward him.

“Ah!” Harry said with an exhalation of breath, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Is the house Robin’s, then?” Louis asked, genuinely curious.  Robin was Harry’s stepdad.  He’d moved the family to the states when Harry was ten, because of business. He had some kind of high-powered job that seemed mysterious to Louis, hedge fund managing or something like that, where it was like money was just being made from money, almost from thin air. So much of it that it started to seem like an abstract concept, not a tangible thing.

Harry nodded, his eyes lighting up as he got out some fancy looking cheese and crackers. He took a sip of wine, returning to his place across the counter from Louis.

“Yeah, he inherited it actually.” He said, as he grabbed a wooden cutting board and cut several thin slices of the cheese with a steady hand.  He was obviously very capable in a culinary sense, again matching up with Louis’s stupid fantasies, just another thing to ignore. Like Harry’s wrists. Louis had to ignore those too.

Harry laughed as he sliced, “He had these eccentric relatives, two uncles and an aunt who never married. They bought it in the 40s and then lived out here together until they were quite old…Harold and Chester and Irene.” He snorted, “Those names!”

“Oh, Harold, huh?” Louis asked, smirking and raising his eyebrows as he snuck a cracker and a piece of cheese. “Worried you’ll end up the same?” If someone as beautiful as Harry ended up alone, Louis was afraid for the rest of the world. For all the normals.

Harry gave him a look and rolled eyes, though clearly amused. “My name’s not Harold.” He said, in a tone that made it obvious that he was well aware that Louis already knew that fact. “And I dunno,” He said with a shrug and a smile, “I can think of worse places to get old.”

“But you’d be alone.” Louis said.

“No! no.” Harry said, shaking his head, “Harold and Chet and Reenie weren’t alone. They had each other.” He smiled, eyes lighting up, “We could be Louis and Niall and Harry!”

“Harold and Chet and Reenie?” Louis repeated with a snort of disbelief, ignoring Harry’s suggestion that they grow old together. With Niall there.

Harry was laughing quietly now and nodding, his eyes all scrunched up in pleasure. “mhhhhm. That’s what they called each other. I know because…” He paused as he moved around the counter and walked out into the living room, picking up a picture off one of the shelves in the floor to ceiling bookcase that made up one of the walls. It was in a heavy silver frame. “I was looking around last summer and...” He said, removing the black velvet back and taking out the picture, “I found this.” He set it down on the counter in front of Louis, walking back over to the stove to check on the mussels as they steamed.

It was a black and white photograph, faded almost to brown, of two middle-aged men and a middle-aged woman standing with croquet mallets, the bay behind them. Based on the oak tree in the picture, Louis figured they must be standing where the pool was now.  Harry made a motion with his head from across the kitchen, indicating the Louis should flip it over, which he did.  “Harold, Chet, and Reenie. June, ’54.” He read aloud, “Reenie won, as usual.” He glanced up at Harry with a smile, “Who took the picture?” he asked.

“Robin’s mum, probably.” Harry said, “She was quite a bit younger. I guess they used to watch her in the summers.”

“She was American?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded.

Louis looked over his shoulder at the backyard. “When’d they put in the pool?” he asked, turning back and watching as Harry carefully drained off the water that hadn’t turned to steam in the pot.

“I dunno. I think the late 60s?” He said, then nodded, “Yeah, Robin was a kid. They built the pool house then too.” He turned back to Louis, setting the pot full of opened mussels on the counter. “They didn’t convert the second floor until I was in junior high, used to be an attic.” He made a frownie face, “Harold and Chet and Reenie were dead by then.” He cut a stick of butter in half and plopped into a small bowl, popping it into the microwave. “Butter.” He said, smiling at Louis and rubbing his hands together. Louis smiled back.

“Shall we eat on the deck?” Harry asked, fidgeting impatiently in front of the microwave as the butter melted. Louis nodded, absently, still looking at the photograph.  Reenie was mid-laugh, leaning on her mallet. She was beautiful, a streak of gray in her long dark braid. The picture was making him feel nostalgic, even though it wasn’t his life. He wanted to ask Harry if he thought they’d been happy, the three of them, if he knew why none of them had ever married, if one of them had out lasted the others or if they’d all died around the same time, but for some reason the questions got stuck in his throat, and he just kept looking at the three of them, not saying a word.  Looking at the photograph was making him feel a little sad and a little worried about the state of his own life, about his past and his future and everything really.  

When he unbowed his head, Harry was looking at him softly from across the counter. He was balancing the pot of mussels on his hip, the bowl of melted butter sitting on top of two plates in his right hand. “I could stare at it all day, too.” He said, with a little smile. Something about his tone of voice made Louis’s heart rate pick up, his cheeks heating a little. He felt vulnerable but understood at the same time, and it made a confused laugh catch in his throat, gurgling out as a small strangled noise.

“Grab the wine?” Harry asked, as if he hadn’t noticed, nodding toward the backdoor with his head. A deck had been built on the edge of the bluff the house was on, a staircase leading down from it to the rocky beach below.

“76 steps.” Niall had said to Louis, clearly impressed, when he was showing him around the day Louis’d arrived. “Counted them myself.” 76 steps down to the water. That’s the kind of thing Niall would be interested in knowing.

Louis nodded, sliding the stems of the wine glasses between the fingers of his right hand and tucking the bottle under his arm. He passed by Harry in the living room so he could open the door for him, since Harry’s hands were full. Once they set everything on the table on the deck, Harry ran back inside for napkins and the cheese and crackers, doing an adorable little trot on his way back over.

“Well,” he said, as they finally sat down. It was only 6:30, so the sun was just starting to set and Harry looked sort of breathtaking in the summer evening light, auburn highlights glinting almost to gold in his dark hair, the water stretching out behind him. “To our ill-gotten gains,” He said happily, gesturing to the mussels with the his wine and then raising his glass to Louis in a toast.

“To our ill-gotten gains,” Louis repeated in a murmur as their glasses clinked together with a satisfying chime. They settled into silence as they began to eat and Louis felt a curious ache growing in his chest, the same nervous and hopeful worry from before. It certainly didn’t feel like they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a decade, that they barely knew each other, really. Just like at the cove, things felt easy and natural, just right.  But there was something else there too, an undercurrent, a sort of potential energy between them. And that was what Louis was trying so valiantly to ignore, to pretend wasn’t there. But the truth was that it was making his heart jump every time their eyes met across the table and making it flutter when their hands brushed together as they reached for the butter at the same time.

“So, acting?” Harry asked after a few minutes, smiling. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand and leveling his gaze at Louis, like he was settling in for a good story.

Louis swallowed down a mussel, wiping the butter from his chin. He smiled back, and shrugged, nodding.

Harry widened his eyes, extending his neck like a turtle in a prompt for further information.

Louis laughed, “Well, yeah. Acting.” He said.  

“But you didn’t go to University for that, right?” Harry asked. He was running the tip of a finger around the rim of his wine glass, if there had been moisture under it the glass would have started to sing. Louis sort of wanted Harry to lick it, his finger, so it would. Almost wanted to do it for him.

“No, I.” Louis cleared his throat, “I got an English degree. I was thinking I’d teach. Or something.” He laughed, “I mean, in the most abstract sense I thought I might, maybe, teach or something. But I just kept being in plays, all through uni—”

“Tisch is like insanely insanely hard to get into, isn’t it?” Harry interrupted, leaning forward further.

Louis blushed and fidgeted, scratching at an eyebrow, “it’s not—it’s not easy,” He admitted.

 “Do you think you’ll be famous?” Harry asked, pausing his finger on his glass, narrowing his eyes at Louis for a moment. “All sorts of famous people went there. I looked it up on Wikipedia.”

Louis burst out laughing, affection for Harry and the way he was bubbling up inside of him. There was a hint of a blush on Harry’s cheeks, but he kept looking right at Louis and he was smiling a twisty smile, his eyes bright.  Louis felt a warm pleasure spread through him at the thought that Harry had been interested enough to do any sort of research pertaining to him.  Well, he’d just have to ignore that too.

“Yeah, I guess some famous people went there.” Louis conceded.

“But like, mostly famous in a good way,” Harry continued, “like, not _too_ famous.” He took a sip of his wine. “Character actors.” He said, by way of explanation, with a little head bob, jutting his chin forward and back. He set the wine glass down on the table and started twisting the stem between his thumb and forefinger.

Louis nodded again, he could probably sit and let Harry ask him questions for an entire day, just sit and listen while he talked. Louis liked it that he didn’t know where Harry’s mind might go. He liked seeing Harry think.  He liked puzzling out _how_ Harry thought.  _Shit._ He really liked Harry very much.

“I don’t want to get you too excited,” Harry said, his voice purposely over-serious and hushed, his eye comically wide, “but someday you might end up with a guest starring role on SVU, Louis.”

“Is that so?” Louis asked wryly, a laugh in his voice.

Harry nodded, knowingly, “Yeah. Read about it in the New York Times once, all the good New York actors get cast.”

“Oh, so that’s how I’ll know I’ve made it?” Louis asked, prizing open another mussel and submerging it in the butter before letting it slide down his throat.

“Yes, exactly, that’s how you’ll know,” Harry said sagely, nodding and blinking slowly, “A rite of passage…” He held up a hand to Louis in warning, “But don’t sell yourself short, Lou. I think you definitely deserve better than a corpse part.”

Louis laughed, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Harry.”

Harry beamed, laughing along with him. He started to pour himself a little more wine.

“But really,” he said, raising the wine bottle to Louis in question, “What kind of acting do you want to do?”

Louis bit the inside of his lip, pushing his wine glass toward Harry, holding its stem as Harry poured. “Well,” he said, “I guess preferably stage acting. I mean, I had some bit parts in movies when I was a kid.”

Harry nodded silently, he obviously remembered.

“But stage is really what I know.” Louis said. “The Theater.” He said in an exaggeratedly pretentious voice, putting it in air quotes, his eyelids fluttering as his eyes rolled. Harry laughed. Louis’s lips curled up into a small smile because of it, “Not that I’d say no to Law & Order, if I got the chance. I mean, I just want to find work, eventually.” He shrugged, “But. I guess, I really do love performing in front of a live audience the most.  I don’t know, I just get…”

“A thrill from it?” Harry finished for him.

“Yeah.” Louis said quietly, he could see from the look in Harry’s eyes that he understood. Louis sighed, rubbing a thumb across his brow, “Yeah. I get a thrill from it.”

“An energy.” Harry said. It wasn’t a question this time.

“Yeah,” Louis whispered. “You must get that too…performing…” his voice trailed off.  Harry was nodding in agreement across form him, looking warm and content and all Louis could think of was what it might be like to hear Harry sing, to watch him perform. He was suddenly consumed by the idea, floored by what he imagined it might be like. The low gravel of Harry’s voice, his head bent over the mic, the way his fingers would move across the strings of his guitar. The sincerity of it. God, the sincerity of Harry. It made his heart race just thinking about it, made that ache of longing build in his chest again. _Fuck._ “You really love it.” Louis said, voice still quiet. That wasn’t really a question either, but Harry responded anyway.

“I do.” He confirmed, “I really do.”

They talked about other things for the rest of the night, their families and Niall and sports and England and America. And what Louis could do on days when Harry and Niall were focusing on their album and he didn’t feel like sitting on the beach alone and reading while drinking diet coke. They talked until they’d finished the bottle of wine and half of another one. Until the sun had set completely and the mosquitos were out and Harry was complaining about how they always seemed to prefer him to other people.  Which gave Louis the opportunity to call him Mosquito Boy, and tell him he was an egotist for thinking they liked him best. And then they’d hand washed and dried all the dishes together while half-drunk, singing along to the oldies station on the radio. And when it was finally time for bed, Harry had stood by the kitchen island barefoot, with prune-y fingers, smiling and yawning and telling Louis about some diner they could go to for breakfast, but Louis had barely been listening because he’d just wanted to kiss Harry so so much. He wanted to crowd into his space and pin him up against the counter and touch his jaw and smile up at him with intent. And then kiss him. God he wanted that. In his bones he wanted it.  

“’Night, Lou.” Harry had said, sleepily. He fluffled up his hair and blinked at Louis in the low lit kitchen, biting his lip, and for half an electric heartbeat Louis thought they might be thinking the same thing, wanting the same thing. Their eyes held for what felt like an endless second, Louis’s pulse pounding in his ears, his breath stopped in his throat. But then Louis had fled, muttering good night as he scurried out the backdoor with his sandals half on, practically sprinting over to the pool house, his heart in his throat. As he slipped between the cool sheets of his bed and buried his head in the pillows, groaning, that ache from earlier, the one had been building all day, it was still there, sharp and insistent, deep in his heart, radiating out through his rib cage. It was a reckless sense of anticipation that he was trying and failing to tamp down, the nervous feeling of half hope/half worry again. He was in even bigger trouble than he’d initially thought. He liked Harry Styles. More than he’d expected. More than was good for self-preservation. He liked him enough that it was not going to be ignorable. Simple physical attraction seemed so manageable now! He could have dealt with that! This was different. He flopped over on his back, kicking at the covers and staring up at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes. He took a deep shaky breath, exhaling slowly and covering his face with his hands.  He’d only spent one day with Harry and somehow it felt like he’d been transported back in time to when they were kids. To when he was sixteen and insecure and scared about his place in the world and of himself and of Harry, too.  Louis didn’t know if he was more afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from acting on his feelings for Harry or that he’d never act on them at all. Louis liked Harry Styles so much, it terrified him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Things didn’t get any easier for Louis the next morning. He woke up to a scratchy tapping sound that he ignored as long as he possibly could, incorporating it into the shifting plotline of his dream before it became too persistent and he was forced into a groggy and irritated investigation of its source. Which meant struggling to open an eye. Of course it turned out to be Harry, grinning at him through the open window by the head of his bed, systematically poking at the screen with his pointer finger, waiting for Louis to wake up.

“Morning!” Harry said, brightly.

Louis made a grumpy groaning noise in response, rolling over onto his back and shading his sleep sensitive eyes from the sun as he looked up at Harry through the window.

“Let’s go to the diner.” Harry said, still poking gently at the screen, his dimples showing. “For breakfast.”

Louis made another noise, non-committal.

“Please?” Harry asked, looking down at Louis expectantly. Louis didn’t respond, letting his eyes fall closed again, like they wanted. “Ok. I’m coming in.” Harry said after several beats, the noise of his finger jabbing at the screen cutting off abruptly. A moment later there was a yelp and a clattering noise at the pool house door.

“Always forget about the step,” Harry said with a sheepish giggle. The pool house was pretty much just a large stuffy room with a bathroom off of it. The floor wasn’t level with the ground outside, which lead to a lot of pratfalls. For Harry.  There were two ancient twin beds on the far side, each of them along a wall, their headboards sort of meeting in the corner. An ugly kitchenette with a drippy faucet and a bar made up the side of the room opposite Louis’s bed, and there was an uncomfortable wicker couch and a rickety coffee table in the middle of the room. Louis sort of loved it. (“Ryan Atwood would have rejected this shit.” – Niall) Louis thought Harry must have been standing by the couch, based on his last voice triangulation but he realized he was wrong when Harry spoke again.

“You can sleep in the house, you know.” Harry said, clearing his throat. He was definitely standing right over Louis now, next to the bed. “If it’s too hot out here.”

It had indeed been very hot the night before, the air heavy. Louis had stripped down to his boxers, shoving the comforter off onto the floor. A sheen of sticky sweat coated his body and the sheets were twisted around his lower legs at the foot of the bed.

“’s okay,” Louis croaked. An electric awareness shot down his spine, his cheeks heating up, as he realized that Harry’s eyes were on him.  He could almost feel them sweeping over his chest and stomach and down to his thighs.

“allllright,” Harry said reluctantly, as if he didn’t quite believe Louis. He started kicking the side of bed a little bit, “So, breakfast.” he said, as if they’d both decided together. “We should leave now, so we can beat the rush.”

“Wha time is it?” Louis garbled, his throat still thick with sleep. He had rolled onto his stomach, burying half his face in the pillow to hide his blush, and he peaked up at Harry with one barely opened eye.

“Seven.”

“Seven????” Louis moaned, scandalized.

Harry laughed, a gentle rumble that Louis felt vibrate through his sleep heavy bones. It was nice, too nice. “It’s the weekend, Lou. People come out here on the weekend. I don’t want to wait to eat.” He leaned down and poked Louis in his back, right between his shoulder blades, the touch sending chills radiating out across Louis’s skin, Louis suppressed a shiver. “Plus,” Harry continued, “You, sir, are on vacation. Which means you have plenty of available nap time later in the day, you baby.”

Louis made another groaning noise, scrunching up his face. “Where?” He asked, as if he was still deciding.  As if he would have been able to say no to breakfast alone with Harry. As if he would be able to say no to anything at all.

“The Diner. The Cutchogue Diner,” Harry said, exasperatedly, his tone conveyed that this should have been obvious. Louis vaguely remembered Harry mentioning it the night before, when Louis had been at his most distracted by his desire to kiss Harry repeatedly on the mouth. He rolled his eyes at himself internally.

Harry picked up a pillow off of Niall’s bed, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I’ll hit you with this pillow if you don’t get up, Tommo.” He said, slinging it over his shoulder like he was ready to take action any second if Louis didn’t comply with his demand.

Louis gave a snort of mocking laughter, ignoring the pleasant ache he felt in his chest, the sleepy headiness he felt because of their interactions. “Well, Jesus, Harry,” he rasped, “resorting to violence so quickly?”

Harry shrugged, and quirked an eyebrow, pillow still on his shoulder.

“And a pillow, too?” Louis continued, “I am _terrified_.”

Harry smirked down at him, “Cooperate and I won’t have to take such drastic measures,”

Louis flipped back over onto his back, stretching with his arms over his head, arching up slightly off the bed.  He was still hyperaware of Harry’s eyes darting over his bare torso, “Ok Fiiiiiiine,” he said in a groan. “I’ll get up.”

As soon as he’d finished talking, Harry stepped forward and brought the pillow directly down onto his face with a self-satisfied cackle.

Louis made a noise of muffled outrage, “What the hell, Hazza??” he squawked, “I said I’d get up.”

 “Decided I wanted to hit you anyway,” Harry said, his voice full of glee.  He swung again, giggling uncontrollably as he got Louis square in the face once more.  He leapt backward away from the bed as soon as the blow landed, as if scared about the strength of Louis’s potential retaliation. He kept creeping forward to smack Louis and then retreating quickly on his tiptoes and Louis was trying to pretend it wasn’t making him absurdly happy and endeared. The third time, Louis managed to grab the pillow right out of Harry’s hands, causing Harry to shriek in exaggerated fear and laugh madly as he darted over to the safety of the doorway. He stood there smiling at Louis, breathless from laughter, barefoot and pigeon toed in his mesh shorts, his eyes practically sparkling, curls askew and Louis’s heart gave a little lurch at the sight of him. His mind involuntarily jumped forward to some indeterminate point in the future, where Harry was his and he could make a pouty face and grabby hands at him and coax him back to bed, for cuddles and snogging and lazy slow morning sex. And then they would go to the diner. After that. _You are so fucked._ He thought, forcing his thoughts back to the present.  

“Ok,” Harry said, opening and shutting the sliding screen door repeatedly as he spoke, “I’ll get the bikes sorted. You get dressed.”

“Bikes?!?” Louis said, throwing a dramatic arm across his eyes in distress, “I thought we were driving.”

“Wrong.” Harry said, his tone all business. He leaned his head to the side and pursed his lips, as if he were dealing with a difficult child and needed to gather all his patience, “It’s only three miles, Lou. I’m pretty sure you’ll survive. Plus! Your bike has sparkly handles and a banana seat!” He said, happily, “Red sparkles! And black handle bar streamers!!” he called over his shoulder as he slipped out the pool house door and headed toward the garage, “in case you want to match your outfit!!”

Louis smiled in spite of himself, collapsing back against the pillow before letting out an overly theatrical groan of combined exhilaration and misery. Probably he’d survive the three-mile bike ride, but he wasn’t sure he’d survive being alone with Harry Styles that much longer.

 

They diner was really quite charming, as it turned out. It wasn’t much bigger than an actual dining car, shaped the same, long and narrow. There were red swivel stools in front of the low counter that ran the length of the restaurant, and about six or seven tables along the opposite wall.  Harry and Louis sat at a table in the corner.  They both had eggs and bacon and home fries and tea (which was surprisingly good) and the food felt nicely heavy in Louis’s stomach.

“The ketchup here is the best,” Harry said, through a mouthful of potatoes, as they were finishing up eating.

Louis gave him a confused look. “Tastes like normal ketchup.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head, holding up a finger as he chewed his potatoes.

“No. no. The bottles,” He said, swallowing, “I meant the bottles.”

Louis just stared at him.

Harry smiled, “The nozzles,” He explained, picking the red plastic ketchup bottle up off their table, “Whoever cuts the tops off, they do it perfectly. It gives you incredible squirt control, Lou.”

Louis was laughing, softly shaking his head. He raised his eyebrows, “Squirt control?” he asked in disbelief and amusement, fighting very hard not to make some kind of sexual innuendo.

“I’m not kidding!” Harry said. He cleared the left over egg and potato debris off to the side of his plate. “Last time we were here, my mate, Zayn, drew an amazing ketchup seahorse!” Harry began to write his name in the empty space he’d created on the plate. It was lovely ketchup cursive, Louis had to admit. “It was beautiful!” Harry said, referring to the seahorse.

Louis didn’t know who this Zayn person was, he had a vague recollection of Niall maybe mentioning a friend with a name that started with Zee, but Harry had certainly referred to him with a lot of affection in his voice, and Louis didn’t want to be outdone. “Lemme try.” He demanded, sticking out his hand for the bottle.

Harry handed it over without protest.

“What’re you gonna draw?” He asked, leaning forward onto the table as Louis started to draw.

“You’ll see,” Louis said, his tongue poking out as he concentrated on getting the lines right.

“What—?” Harry cut himself with a snort of laughter as Louis’s picture took shape, “Well. I hope the waitress comes back in time to see this.” Harry said, reprovingly.

“Oh give me a break,” Louis said, momentarily halting progress on the ketchup dick he had started to draw in order to arch his brow at Harry, “Like you’ve never.”

Harry laughed, leaning back in his chair and opening up his shoulders, one foot resting on a knee. Louis tried not to be too distracted by the lines of his body, by the way he looked so strong and lean in his soft cotton t-shirt. Harry took a deep breath and placed a hand on his chest, “I will admit to having drawn many a cock.” He said, “But never in ketchup, and very rarely in such great detail,” he gestured to where Louis had added a vein to the underside of the penis that was taking shape on his plate.

Louis snorted, “Yeah right, Styles.” He smirked as he resumed drawing, “You were practically Jonah Hill in Superbad when were kids.” He gestured with the ketchup bottle, like it was a conductor’s wand, “Dicks, dicks, dicks, ev-ery-where.”

Harry was laughing softly, he conceded with a shrug. “It’s really too bad we don’t have that Adventure Squad notebook,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “There were some real gems in there.”

Louis giggled, but he felt a little pang of guilt thinking about how he’d lied about the whereabouts of the notebook the day before. He could picture it now, safe and sound in a box under his bed at his mum’s. He thought of Harry at fourteen, his eyes eager and bright every time he looked at Louis and the pang of guilt sharpened into a stab and he quickly forced it from his mind, returning his attention to the task at hand.

“Wait, what is that?” Harry asked, leaning forward again, as Louis continued his work.

“A frame.” Louis said, barely containing his laughter, as he boxed the dick in with a rectangle and embellished the outside edge.

“A frame?” Harry started laughing incredulously, “You’re _framing_ it?”

Louis laughed silently, nodding.

Harry was shaking his head, but he looked delighted and engaged, it made Louis feel high. He was little giddy from all of their interactions that morning, maybe edging toward hyper. A touch overeager, just as expected.  He forced that thought from his mind as well.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Louis explained, his voice droll, “Deserves a proper showcase.”

Harry accepted the point with a shrug and a smirk, his dimples showing.

“Stupid seahorse isn’t so impressive now, is it?” Louis asked, his smile a bit wicked, a challenge in his voice, as he turned the plate so that the finished artwork faced Harry.

Harry let out a deep barking belly laugh, the openly happy amusement on his face causing Louis to blush slightly, “Oh, you’re competing with Zayn for best in ketchup, are you? Don’t worry, Lou,” Harry said, making eye contact, “I’ll make sure everyone hears about your magnificent bright red cock. It is _amazing_.”

Louis burst out laughing, “Be sure you do, Harry.” He said, the now familiar ache of longing ever present in his chest, “Be sure you do.” _Well_ , he thought, as they sat together smiling, their laughter dying down, _you just can’t help yourself, can you?_

After they settled up at the diner, Harry hurriedly snapping a picture of Louis’s towering achievement in ketchup art with his phone just in time to destroy it before the waitress came back with the bill, Harry suggested that they go the library.

“Zayn might be working!” he said, as he trotted down the steps of the restaurant, he nodded to the left with his head, “’s that way, we’ll walk the bikes over.”

The library was a block away, in a beautiful old converted church, the children’s section making up most of what used to be the sanctuary. They found Harry’s friend on the second floor, re-shelving nonfiction books while singing softly to himself. Louis had to bite his tongue to prevent from asking if there was something in the fucking water out here because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen such a beautiful face in his whole life. This Zayn individual had high cheekbones, lovely dusky skin, and the longest eyelashes. Just. The longest. In the world, Louis had decided. Zayn and Harry made quite a picture as they bro hugged hello, thumping each other on the back.

“Hey man,” Harry said, pulling back, “how’ve you been?”

“Good.” Zayn, “Things’ve been good.” Louis was surprised to discover that he was also British.

“This is Louis,” Harry said gesturing to Louis with this thumb, his voice hushed because of their environment, despite the fact that they were the only people on the floor. “Louis this is Zayn.”

“Heard a lot about you.” Zayn said as they shook hands. _From Niall_. Louis instructed himself. _Probably from Niall_.

“Heard about your ketchup art.” Louis said, with a sardonic little smile.

Zayn laughed, “some of my best work.” He said.

“Zayn’s an artist,” Harry explained.

“oh?”

“Struggling.” Zayn said, still smiling, as he shelved another book.

“He wants to start an artist’s colony out here,” Harry said, a note of pride in his voice, “pretty cool, huh?”

Louis nodded.

Zayn rolled his eyes at Harry affectionately.

Harry smiled, clearly enjoying Zayn’s mild embarrassment as he talked him up. “He used to be a model.” He whispered to Louis, widening his eyes. He giggled as Zayn swatted at him to get him to shut up.

“What do you want, Styles?” Zayn asked.

“Just thought I’d stop in and personally invite you to the party Nialler and I are having next Saturday, since we were in the area.” Harry said, cheerfully. “Oh Louis too, Louis invites you too. Right, Lou?”

Louis nodded, even though this was definitely the first he’d heard of a party.

Harry turned toward Louis, “We’re having a party on Saturday.” He said, in a sort of confidential whisper that made Louis smile.

“So you’ll come?” Harry asked Zayn, who was examining the spine of a book. For the dewey decimal number, Louis assumed.

Zayn made a non-committal sound, turning to shelve the book.

Harry nudged Louis, a knowing look in his face, “Perrie’ll be there.” He said, fighting back a slightly smug smile.

Zayn turned back to him, rolling his eyes at Harry, but clearly at least fifty percent more interested. “Yeah?”

Harry nodded.

Zayn’s face took on the same knowing expression as Harry’s, his eyes narrowing, “Is Grimshaw going to be there?” he asked, with a smirk.

Harry rolled eyes exaggeratedly and pulled a face, as if Zayn was being ridiculous, but there was a hint of a blush high on his cheeks and he was squirming slightly.

As he watched Harry react, Louis had this strange sensation, like his mind was sort of splitting in half. One part of him calmly schooling his face into neutrality, smiling blankly as Zayn and Harry continued to talk, while the other part, the part of him that felt disappointment blooming in his stomach and spreading out through his veins, that part had somehow moved outside of his body, hovering above him, observing. How was it possible that it hadn’t occurred to him that Harry might be interested in someone else, already? That Harry might actually even be _dating_ someone? It was more than a little disconcerting how high he’d unintentionally let his hopes get in such a short amount of time, in spite of his best efforts to continue lying to himself that he wasn’t letting it happen.  

 “Yes.” Harry said, with an exasperated sigh. He rolled his eyes one more time. “Nick will be there.”

“Thought so,” Zayn said, with a little grin, scooting his book cart a little further down the aisle. “Yeah. I’ll come. What time?”

“I dunno.” Harry said, he scrunched up his face, “like one-ish? You know how Niall gets.”

Zayn laughed, nodding. “What should I bring?”

“Don’t worry about food and booze and stuff.” Harry said, waving a lazy hand around, “Niall and I’ve got it.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows as if to protest.

“Really,” Harry said.

“Ok.” Zayn said with a small smile and a shrug, “Not going to say no to free shit.”

“Brilliant.” Harry said, making a move toward the stairs, “See you then.”

 “Yeah,” Zayn said, leaning back against his book cart, “Nice to meet you,” he said, raising his chin to Louis.

Louis nodded mutely, taking a beat to come back to himself. “Yeah, Yeah. You too.” He murmured, trailing behind Harry as they headed down the stairs and out of the library.

The first part of the bike ride back to Nassau Point was on the busy main road, so they couldn’t hear each other to talk over the sound of the cars, and Louis was relieved. He wouldn’t have been up for much talking, anyway.  The wineries and the gas stations and the houses with their hydrangea bushes all blurred together as they tooled along, and Louis tried to get a handle on his stupid emotions. He was struggling to pin down why his disappointment felt so sharp, his vulnerability cutting so deep.  As he pushed now on the pedals in a steady rhythm, he was forced to admit to himself that he’d already subconsciously begun to assume that Harry had been flirting back with him. That he had felt increasingly certain, increasingly hopeful, that Harry was interested in him too.  And from what? A morning pillow fight and a shared enjoyment of ketchup phalluses? Why couldn’t the universe just let him lie to himself for a little longer? Why not?  _Get a grip_ , He told himself, for what felt like the thousandth time since Friday afternoon.

By the time Louis had managed to sort his feelings out to a somewhat acceptable degree, the ache in his heart a faint but persistent reminder of how screwed he was, they were almost back to Harry’s. They made the sweeping turn onto Nassau Point Road and the bay suddenly stretched out before them, silver-gray and sparkling in the shimmery morning light, the sky a huge expanse of washed out blue above it. Louis almost caught his breath at the sight of it.

“We’ll have a proper beach day.” Harry said, seeing the expression on Louis’s face as he craned his neck to look back at him.

“Proper beach day?”

Harry nodded, standing up on his pedals, his curls rustling in the breeze.

“So we’ll just sit on the beach, then?” Louis asked.

Harry laughed, “pretty much.”

“Sounds good to me.” Louis said.  He’d been down to the water a couple of times since he’d arrived, but Niall seemed to prefer to lounge by the pool.

Harry’s version of a proper beach day turned out to be only marginally more complicated than just sitting on beach.  It was sitting on the beach with provisions, the correct provisions, and he marched around the house getting things ready while Louis looked on. They made simple roast beef sandwiches and put them them in a cooler with what Louis thought was a scandalous amount of diet sodas.

“It’s better to be prepared,” Harry explained, as he stuffed a package of Oreos and a bag of pretzel rods into a canvas bag. “I mean, once you get down there, going back up the stairs seems like the biggest pain in the arse.”

Louis nodded as Harry yanked open a closet and handed him a fluffy beach towel. The smell of salt water clung to it through the fresh scent of laundry detergent and Louis wanted to breath it in all the way, fill up his lungs and hold it there. It smelled like Harry, really.

“Got a book or something?” Harry asked, he was standing in the living room now, the canvas bag slung over his shoulder, cooler in hand, a beautiful leather diary tucked under his arm. Harry was also wearing incredibly brief pink swim trunks and Louis tried not think about how he might have to attempt to survive watching Harry apply sunscreen in the near future. He swallowed hard as he leaned over to grab his paperback up off the coffee table.

“Ready?” Harry asked, opening the sliding glass door and guiding Louis through it, his touch light on Louis’s lower back.

Louis nodded, squinting into the sun. The stairs down to the beach were weather beaten, faded to the color of driftwood, and he enjoyed the way the handrail felt under his hand, somehow textured and smooth at the same time.  The tide was more than mid way out when they reached the bottom of the stairs, but there was only about fifteen feet of sand between the bulkheads that held back the bluffs above them and the water. The beach was uneven and littered with rocks and bits of broken seashells and the occasional clump of seaweed, but looking down the line of the shore in either direction, Louis couldn’t see another soul and it was perfect.

Harry dropped everything he’d been carrying rather unceremoniously and then crept awkwardly over an uneven stretch of pebbles to grab some beach chairs out from under the last flight of stairs. He came toddling back over to Louis with a little giggle at his own clumsiness, opening the chairs and setting them down side by side, just behind high water line of the earlier tide. He gestured to Louis to sit as he plunked himself down, smiling.

“Haven’t had a proper beach day all summer.” He said, leaning back with sigh and smiling up at the sun with his eyes closed.

“Why not?” Louis asked, tracing his fingers in the fine-grained sand beneath them.  He picked up a small stone and measured its weight in his hand, trying to decide if he wanted to skip it.

“Dunno, really,” Harry said, he scrunched up his face, his eyes still closed, “Busy with the music, I guess.  Makes me miss my sister, a little, too.”

“She’s in London?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded, “Same as my parents.” He paused, leaning forward to tug his t-shirt off over his head, before settling back into the chair, “We used to have these traditions,” He said softy, digging his toes into the sand.  He nodded toward the cooler between them, “Like, roast beef sandwiches for the beach. And too much diet coke.” He laughed, “We never got to drink soda anywhere else. Diet coke used to taste like the beach to me.” He shook his head, still laughing, “That’s stupid.”

“No. It’s not.” Louis said softly, “What else?” he asked. _Tell me everything_ , he thought, greedily.

Harry continued, a smile in his voice, “Every year we’d have an intra-family badminton league, too. Me and Robin against Gems and my mum. They’d always win.”

“You came out here at the end of the summer?” Louis asked.

“Yeah, two weeks. Right before school.”

“How nice,” Louis said, thinking of how Harry would leave the Horan’s in mid-august when they were kids, how excited he always was to go back to America. It was strange thinking about how this was probably where he’d been returning to. He’d probably said as much, only maybe Louis hadn’t been paying quite so close of attention back then.

“It was.” Harry said, “We used to go to the Hamptons every year, too, for a day, to the real ocean.” He gestured to the relatively calm waters of the bay, “can’t really body surf here.” 

Louis laughed, watching as a two-inch wave crashed gently against the shore. “Guess not.”

They lapsed into silence and Louis opened his book, squinting at the page. It was bleached an almost blinding white in the sun, and he could barely make out the text because of it. It didn’t matter anyway, though, because he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate to read. He was too busy dwelling on the fact that Harry had brought back “proper beach day” for him and not Niall. _You aren’t special, you idiot_ , he groaned internally. _Just fucking relax. Everyone wants to sit on the god damn beach sometimes._ He didn’t think he’d be able to though, not with his body so overly aware of Harry’s next to him, but he must have dozed off, because he woke up with a start sometime later, to the sound of his book falling out of his hand into the sand.

As his eyes readjusted to the light, he realized that Harry was out in the bay, about 30 yards from shore, the water still not coming up past his waist. He seemed to be tracking the movements of a particularly large seagull above him, skimming his fingers across the top of the water as he did so, and Louis felt fondness swell up in his chest as he watched, _stupidly beautiful endearing little jerk._ Harry’d been facing away from the beach, but he seemed to sense Louis’s eyes on him and he turned around, smiling.

“Come in the water, Louis.” He called out.

Louis made a face. The closer you got to the waterline, the less the beach was made up of sand, the more it was made up of fist sized rocks and smaller pebbles, some quite heavily barnacled.

“Just wear your flip-flops, you wimp!” Harry hollered, seemingly reading Louis’s mind as he moved in a little closer to shore, “’s perfect out here. I promise.” He’d clearly been under the surface, his hair slicked back from his face, beads of water clinging to his chest. Which Louis refused to compare to jewels as they gleamed in the sun.

Louis struggled to his feet, stretching and pulling off his t-shirt. He slid on his flip-flops, glad he had picked up a cheap plastic pair at the drug store with Niall the previous Wednesday, and then started stepping gingerly toward the water, his elbows raised up for better balance.

“Gets sandy again about ten feet out.” Harry said, as Louis teetered on the loose rocks, the water at his ankles.  He tensed up a bit when he thought he’d seen a crab. The water was a pale cloudy green, like seaglass from a bottle of Rolling Rock, but the bottom was still visible, and Louis was relieved to see that Harry hadn’t been lying about it getting increasingly sandy the further you got away from the shore.

“Nice, huh?” Harry asked, as Louis approached him. Louis winced as Harry ran a hand across the surface, sending a cascade of water in his direction.  It fell just short, only a few stray droplets reaching him, but Louis made an embarrassing sound of protest anyway, halting his forward progress.

“Cold!” he said, wrapping his arms around his chest and scowling.  Harry had a glint in his eye, the same mischievous look he’d had right before he’d walloped Louis with the pillow that morning, and Louis started edging sideways, wary of a more extensive splash attack.

 “Not if you go under.” Harry said, falling backwards into the water, as if to demonstrate. He started doggy paddling around after he surfaced.

And it was true, Louis knew it was. He could feel that his lower body had already adjusted to the temperature of the water.  It was only itchy and cold at his waist, where it was still lapping against him. Louis made a face as he slowly lowered himself forward into it, submerging his shoulders, but keeping his head out, paddling about a little, just like Harry. 

Harry laughed, standing up again. “You realize that’s just an invitation for a dunking, right?” He asked, making a move toward Louis.

“Don’t you dare!” Louis sputtered, dropping his feet to the ground and turning to run away.  His hand ran through the water as he pivoted and he felt something slimy and wet, somehow wetter than the water, slide through his fingers.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, jerking his hand out of the water and freezing in place. He turned to look at Harry with wild eyes.

“What?” Harry asked, he looked startled, his eyes as wide as Louis’s. He glanced around at the water, momentarily frantic, “Was it a crab? Did you step on a crab? Ok, please no jokes about sharks, Lou.” He said, “Please. Like, I have an actual fear.”

“Sharks? What??” Louis said, suddenly distracted from the memory of the horrifying blob he’d touched, “Do they come in here?” he asked, tone doubtful, trying to cover his growing unease “Do sharks really come in the bay?”

“What? No.” Harry said, sweeping his hair from his eyes. “No. I just, when I was kid…I always got scared a stray one would like, wonder over from the ocean or whatever.  And then like, bite my leg off.”

Louis started to laugh, “Ok, no. It was like. I touched—like. I touched this weird blob thing. It went through my fingers. And it freaked me out.”

Harry laughed, completely relaxed now, “oh a jellyfish.” He said, straightening up in the water. “It was just a jellyfish.”

“What?” Louis asked, horrified, raising his arms up out of the water instinctively, as if his hands were his only point of vulnerability. “Why didn’t it sting?”

Harry shook his head, “They don’t all sting, Louis.  The clear ones don’t.” then he made a face, reconsidering, “Ok, well, the clear ones in _this_ bay don’t.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, “Are there any jellyfish besides the clear ones here?”

Harry nodded, smiling at Louis’s discomfort, “yeah, red ones.”

“Do those sting?”

Harry nodded again, “yeah, but they only come around in the late afternoon, every once in a while.”

Louis made a snorting noise, moving toward Harry in the water, as if their proximity would ward off the disgusting sea life he was learning about, “So you know their schedule?” He asked, skeptically.

Harry laughed more and shrugged, “I’m just telling you what I’ve learned from experience, ok Lou? You can take it or leave it.”

“But the clear ones don’t sting?”

“Nope.” Harry said. He looked down at the water in concentration for a second, his brow furrowing. “Got one.” He said, his face lighting up as he scooped something out of the water. He held it out toward Louis, for inspection. Louis hesitated, pulling his neck back in disgust.

“These ones are actually pretty cool,” Harry said, “They really don’t sting. Plus, they like, light up at night. They sort of glow in the dark.”

“Shut up.” Louis said in disbelief, moving closer to look in Harry’s hand.

“They do!” Harry said, “Like when they hit the rocks. They light up! They’re iridescent.”

Louis tsked, “bullshit,” he said, shaking his head.

Harry started to laugh, throwing his hands in the air, aborting the gesture quickly when he almost lost the jellyfish in the process. “I swear to god, Louis.”

Louis continued to regard him skeptically, through narrowed eyes, which only made Harry laugh more. 

“Why would I make something like that up?” He asked, still laughing as Louis made an exaggerated face of confusion, as if to say “I don’t know why you are the way you are, weirdo.”

Harry was laughing harder and harder, in the kind of breathless, helpless way you do when someone thinks you’re trying to pull one over on them, but you’re actually not, and then the laughter sometimes just convinces them further that you’re lying. Louis knew better though, he could tell now that Harry was telling the truth. Not that he was going to let Harry know that, of course. He was enjoying this excuse to flirt too much. He ignored the little tug of fear he felt in his stomach when his mind flitted back to Harry’s blush at the library. _Christ I like him so much._ Louis thought, mildly stricken, as he watched Harry’s face turn rosy from the laughter, his body curving forward with it, abs contracting. “I’m not lying, Lou.” He finally got out.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it.” Louis said, primly, his brows arched, striving for his most unimpressed tone of voice. He reached out a tentative finger, and poked the creature in Harry’s palm, enjoying how accurate the jelly part of the name was.

“Well, Louis,” Harry said, with a little giggle, eyes almost gleeful, “That can easily be arranged. I don’t know how you missed this, but it gets dark at the end of the day. It’s called nighttime. So.”

“Oh, that’s what that is?” Louis replied, rolling his eyes, unable to keep his fondness for Harry from twisting his lips into a little smile, “Thank you for clearing that up.”

Harry beamed at him, “No problem, just let me know when you’re free.” He said, obviously quite pleased with himself. It was making Louis itch to grab him by his shoulders and kiss the smugness right off his face. So he splashed him instead. Harry growled in happy outrage, something that Louis pretended hadn’t send a thrill right down his spine, and retaliated immediately.  He shoved a huge wall of water toward Louis and then launched himself into the air behind it, tackling Louis and taking him under the surface in one fell swoop. Louis tried not to concentrate on the feel of Harry’s calves sliding over his as their legs tangled together in the shallow water. He tried to ignore the way Harry’s long fingers pressed into his shoulders as he pulled Louis under, but his heart was pounding nonetheless. 

They came up out of the water gasping for breath and laughing, and spent the next several minutes dunking and splashing each other, and occasionally shrieking. (Mostly Louis) Finally, they stood together, exhausted, about three feet apart, their chests heaving as they caught their breath.  Harry’s hands were at his hips, and he shook out his soaking wet hair, radiating drops of water out around him.

“Baby Tarzan.” Louis said, fondly, before he could stop himself, enjoying the sight of Harry too much, struck by how much he’d changed since he was fourteen, but hadn’t all.

Harry just looked at him then, standing stock still, water still dripping off his brow, a half smile on his face.

“Do you remember?” Louis asked, fidgeting. He scratched at his nose, at the drop of salt water that was sliding slowly down it. “How—”

“Yeah, I remember,” Harry said, quietly, something flickering in his eyes that Louis couldn’t quite pin down.

“Niall and I, we used to call you that.” Louis continued, the sudden nervous energy in the air making him prattle on unnecessarily.

Harry’s head snapped toward Louis’s at that, their eyes locking. Harry gave a small shake of his head, tugging awkwardly on an ear. “Niall never really called me that.” he said, slow and simple, his voice still low.

Louis gave a small involuntary gasp at Harry’s words, a scorching blush burning up his face and into his scalp as guilt and remorse flooded into his body, making his heart race and his skin tingle as the realization set in. Of course Harry remembered. Of course Harry remembered _everything_. Of course Niall hadn’t called Harry “Baby Tarzan” in affectionate and teasing tones. No. Really it had only been Louis. Louis had always been flirting with Harry back then. Teasing him. Leading him on. And he’d always lied to himself about his motivations, hiding behind the protection of friendship, as if he didn’t understand what was going on or what he was doing. But Harry had known, he always had, and, infinitely braver and more wonderful than Louis, he’d acted on it. Louis felt a renewed spike of regret and self-loathing as the memory of that night speared through his mind and jolted his whole body. Nothing had changed. Louis had been lying to himself again since he’d gotten to Long Island, lying to himself like he’d done when they were kids, like he had over the past nine years, always thinking of Harry but never wanting to admit he was. He’d been ignoring the fact that even though it was almost a decade in the past, he still owed Harry an explanation for the way he’d acted. He owed Harry an apology, and he certainly didn’t deserve for Harry to reciprocate his ridiculous new feelings. He barely deserved Harry’s friendship. He felt sick to his stomach that he’d even had the gall to be worried that Harry might be interested in someone else.

“Harry,” He rasped out, raising a tentative hand. He stepped closer in the water, his body absolutely crackling with adrenaline. He felt so suddenly desperate to apologize, to explain, that he was dizzy from, his bones aching.

Harry raised his eyebrows in response, his eyes warily expectant, but still kind.

“Harry—I—” Louis choked out, closing his fingers in a circle around Harry’s wrist, needing some sort of contact so he could get this out. “I—”

“What the fuck, you fuckers!”

Both of their heads swiveled toward the beach, where Niall was now standing indignantly, his guitar on his back, his oversized tank top soaked in sweat.

“Couldn’t you have taken a fucking phone down here?” He called out in complaint. “I just had to walk practically all the way here from the Jitney.”

Louis released Harry’s wrist, the moment clearly broken, his hand dropping to his side. He followed slowly as Harry moved toward the shore, shivering as the wind picked up over the water.

“What?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed, “I thought you were staying in the city till Sunday.” He said, wobbling up the rocky part of the beach to their chairs.  He grabbed his towel.

“Yeah,” Niall said, making an oops face. “Got the dates fucked up. Whatever. I texted you both when I got on the bus and then called like twelve times when I got to Cutch.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

Niall laughed, all his blustery annoyance draining out of him, “’s ok. Not your fault really. It’s mine. I’m just cranky ‘cause I had to walk all the way to fucking Krupski’s before Liam came by in his truck and picked me up.” Krupski’s was a roadside vegetable stand that was about halfway between Cutchogue, where the Jitney stop was, and the house. That meant Niall had probably walked about a mile and a half, maybe two, in the hot sun.

Harry grimaced apologetically. Niall waved it off.

“He’s coming to the party, by the way,” Niall said, shifting his guitar around on his back. He turned to Louis, who was standing slightly behind Harry, hugging his body against a chill. “Haz tell you about the party?” He asked.

Louis nodded, bending down to grab his towel of his chair.

“”s gonna be sick, man.”

Louis just nodded again.

“Ok, well, c’mon Styles.” Niall said, jerking his head back up toward the house. “I have some ideas we need to go over like straight away, before I lose them.  Got all inspired on the bus.”

“kay,” Harry said, his gaze flicked over to Louis, skittering away before any real eye contact could be made and settling on the still full cooler, at their feet.

“I’ll—” Louis croaked out, he waved a hand around their stuff, clearing his throat. “I’ll bring it all up later.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, softly. The warmth in his voice as he said it, like he was trying to reassure Louis that things were ok, it made Louis’s chest ache so much, made him feel like he was teetering on the verge of tears. Harry had always been so kind, and at that moment Louis felt a melodramatic urge to cast himself into the bay and drown himself because he didn’t deserve it. Any of it.

“Good luck with the music.” He forced himself to say, lowering himself into a chair.

“Yeah, we’ll probably need it,” Niall said with a snort, “Come check on us in five hours if we’re not back.” He said.

Louis nodded, smiling tightly and shading his eyes from the sun as he craned his neck back to look up at the two of them.  He wondered if Niall could tell that something was off.

“We’ll make dinner together.” Harry murmured.

“Hell yeah we will!” Niall said, as he and Harry turned for the stairs. “Did you hear that, Tommo? Dinner! I’m excited already.”

Louis let out a weak laugh, unable to keep from being amused by Niall’s classic overenthusiasm for food. He waved good bye over his head. “Me too, Nialler. Me too.”

When he finally heard their footsteps recede away from the top of the staircase, he buried his head in his hands and let out a long groan. The sick feeling had stayed inside of him, heavy and dense in the pit of his stomach. The urge to make it right was cutting so deep, it made him want to run up to the house and down to the basement and tell Niall to leave and just apologize and apologize right then, until Harry understood. But Louis couldn’t really do that. He wasn’t brave enough.

“You are a coward.” He said out loud, throwing a rock angrily into the water. “You have always been a coward.”

He would have to wait for the right moment, and he had no idea when that would be, and currently he didn’t trust himself to be strong enough to take advantage of it, anyway, if and when it came.  The worst part was, he didn’t just want Harry to understand and forgive him, if he was honest, he desperately wanted Harry to like him, as much as he liked Harry. As long as he was finally in the business of telling himself the truth, he needed to admit, he maybe even wanted Harry to love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! feedback appreciated. i'm on tumblr too. [gloriaandrews](http://gloriaandrews.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to sarous. I hope you get a chance to read it in between archeaological digs and touring ancient ruins or whatever you are doing over there. Miss you!!!! 
> 
> Also thank you to RAOTS, as always. 
> 
> Feedback greatly appreciated!!! Thank you for reading!

Louis woke up the following Saturday to the sound of Niall dragging a bunch of empty coolers across the cement by the pool. He appeared to be making his way over to the deck, but he was having a tough time of it, probably four coolers at once had been a bit too ambitious.

“Do you want some help?” Louis croaked, through the window.  Niall didn’t hear him, just kept struggling forward, he was pulling all of the coolers by their handles and they kept catching up to him and clipping him on the back of his heels, almost making him trip. “Do you—,” Louis tried again, then thought better of it, kicking off the sheets and padding out of the pool house. 

“Morning, Lou!” Niall said cheerfully, as he let Louis take two of the coolers off his hands.

“Morning.” Louis rasped, clearing his throat.  They set the coolers down in a row on the deck. “Glad you’re up,” Niall said as he pulled a metal bottle opener out of his pocket and tied it to the end of a piece of twine that was already attached to the handle of the biggest cooler.

“Wanna come to Costco with me?” He asked, eyes bright. To Niall, Costco was like the Promised Land. “We need like, a lot of beer.”

Louis made a face.

“Oh come on, Louis, please.  Haz can’t come, he’s working on a marinade.” Niall said, He raised his eyebrows twice in rapid succession, “We’ll stop at the deli. I know you like those buttered rolls!”

Louis snorted, leave it to Niall to use food as a motivating factor. “Ok yeah, I’ll come.” He said, with a shrug.  He turned to head back to the pool house so he can change out of his pajamas.

“Excellent!” Niall said to his retreating back, “Day drinkin’ sippin’ beers.” He sang the out the words to the tune of Big Pimpin’.  Louis laughed quietly, shaking his head. Niall had been singing the same day drinking song for years, pretty much any time there was any day drinking currently taking place, or there was any day drinking that was going to be taking place relatively soon, or there had been any day drinking that had taken place in the semi recent past. He always made it seem like a thing everyone knew about, too. Like, oh yeah, the Day Drinking Anthem, sure, I’m familiar.  Louis was certain it wouldn't be the last time he'd hear it that day.

“You ever going to add on to that?” Louis asked over his shoulder, as he tugged the pull house door open. It was always only those four words. "Day drinkin’, sippin’ beers." Every time.

Niall made a confused grumping noise, “What? Why mess with perfection, Tommo?” he tapped the face of his watch, “Hurry up, I want to get a hot dog at Costco.”

Louis hadn’t seen much of Harry or Niall all week, but when he had, Niall’d been very vocally excited about the party. Mostly, he told Louis about how he’d become a dedicated student of the subtle differences in the American usage of slang terms for being shit faced. “Hammered is my favorite over here, Louis. It’s better than wasted. It’s like, the perfect level of party drunk. I’m gonna get hammied this Saturday, ok? And you are too.” And Louis had just shrugged and managed a half smile and said, “If you say so, Nialler.”

Niall and Harry had been swept up in some kind of creative fervor ever since Niall had gotten home from the city the Saturday before, and they had disappeared into the studio in the basement for days on end. They came upstairs for “snackies” and sleeping, but Louis barely saw them. So, he’d had a lot of time to himself and the week had sort of melted slowly by, all sand and saltwater and too bright sun. Louis kept sitting on the beach all day, still pretending to read Plum Island, while he stared blankly out at the water and semi-successfully tried to ignore his underlying uneasiness, the strange low-level dread he felt about Harry and the party and his entire life. He didn’t seem to be able to avoid it at night, though, as it turned out. All week long, He’d lain awake in bed, listening to the regular rhythm of Niall’s breathing mixing with sound of the cicadas outside, and pictured himself apologizing to Harry, finally getting up the nerve.  He could see himself slipping out of bed and walking quietly over to the house, the grass dewy and cool under his feet. He would ease through the sliding glass door and gingerly climb the stairs to the second floor, to Harry’s room, and then knock softly on his door. “Harry?” he would say, as he pushed it gently open. “Lou?” Harry would respond, confused and sleepy in the dark. And Louis’s heart would be pounding, but he’d say it. He’d say, “Harry, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” But that was as far as he ever got. He’d just roll over in bed and scrunch his eyes shut, cursing himself, and then start from the beginning again. He definitely hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Ready?” Niall asked, tossing the car keys into the air and catching them as Louis shuffled back out of the pool house fully dressed, five minutes later.

Louis nodded mutely and followed him to the garage. Niall gave him a sidelong glance as they got into Harry’s station wagon, staring for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. Louis shifted around in the passenger's seat, eyes trained resolutely forward, fidgeting with his seatbelt, pretending he didn’t feel Niall’s eyes on him, pretending he wasn’t aware that Niall was aware that he was pretending he didn’t feel Niall’s eyes on him. Niall made a soft scoffing sound and he shook his head and then he turned the engine over.

Harry and Niall had finally emerged from the basement on Thursday afternoon, looking bleary eyed and unaccustomed to natural light, still buzzing with strange, manic energy.

“Louis!” Niall had said, “Would you like to accompany us for a round of mini-golf this evening?”

Louis was taking a break from the beach, stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool for once, and he peered at them over the top of his paperback. Still Plum Island.

“I thought you were into real golf now, Ni?” He said.

Harry snorted, throwing his head back in amusement, as he and Niall approached the pool area.

Niall gave Harry a look and rolled his eyes.

“What?” Louis asked, setting the book down.

“First of all,” Niall said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I see no reason why interest in actual golf should rule out interest in mini-golf.”

“Okayyy,” Louis say, conceding the point, but still wondering where this was going.

“And,” Niall said, glancing over at Harry, “Um. We had a bit of an incident last time we went to the Par Three.” He cleared his throat, “ _I_ had a bit of an incident, I guess I should say.”  

Harry shook his head at Niall fondly. “It wasn’t your fault, Nialler.”

“Oh, I know!” Niall said, wide eyed, his expression going comically dark. “Believe me, I KNOW.”

“Wait, what happened?” Louis asked.

“So,” Harry said, turning to Louis with happy green eyes, excited to tell the story, “We went golfing a few weeks ago, just before you got here. And we were having a real nice time.”

“Real nice,” Niall said, “you know, like just, we were bringing out the best in each other, laughing, enjoying the weather, that type of thing.”

“uh huh.” Louis said.

“And we get to the fourth hole, and it like, runs parallel to a road.” Harry continued.

“There’s a line of trees, but like, the road is RIGHT there. Right next to it.” Niall said.

“And Niall goes to tee off, and kind of slices it.”

“Not the best shot I ever hit, but _definitely_  not the worst.” Niall pipes up.

“And it ricochets off a tree and out into the road and we just hear this noise, ok? Like a weird crunching sound,” Harry said, gesturing with his hands as he spoke and then trying to mimic the sound.

“I hit a fucking car.” Niall said, “And cracked the windshield.”

“Oh my god,” Louis said, scooting up on the lounge chair and sitting cross legged, his elbows on his knees, “So, wait, is the golf course liable then? They would be, right?” he asked. 

“You would fucking think so, wouldn’t you!” Niall said, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

Harry was just shaking his head, a small regretful smile on his face, “Turns out no. No, they are not.”

“And of course this guy in the car has to be a complete twat about it.” Niall said, shaking his head more.

“I mean, we were apologizing left and right. But he was super pissed.  Hated us straight away. And it was like, god. I get it that this is an inconvenience, but it was a freak accident! Chill out!” Harry said, “And then, we didn’t know if Niall was liable. I mean, every single person we tell this story to assumes the golf course would be liable, just like we did! So, we went back to the club house, to talk to the owner about it and stuff, and the guy from the car basically accuses us of trying to sneak away without dealing with the situation.”

 Niall just continued to shake his head and grumble, his eyes narrowed.

“The worst part was, he tried to guilt Niall at the end of it, by like coughing and then muttering something under his breath about how he thought he ‘had a piece of glass stuck in his throat.’” Harry said, his outrage clear, “I mean, for christ’s sake, you know? We saw the windshield, ok pal? That clearly didn’t happen.”

 “Ridiculous!  He was fine!” Niall said, “Anyway, the stupid jerk’s car insurance ended up covering it, thank god. Otherwise I would’ve had to. But, I dunno. Put me off regular golf for the time being.”

“That is completely understandable,” Harry said, clapping Niall on the back. He clearly meant it.

Louis looked back and forth between them, smiling. He had forgotten how great of a story telling duo Harry and Niall made, how entertaining they were. They always played off each other so well, enjoyed each other so much.  He’d missed it and he hadn’t even realized. His chest tightened, he loved them both.

“So you’ll come with us?” Harry asked, the eagerness in his eyes making Louis’s chest tighten further.  In the limited amout of interaction they’d had that week, since the moment in the bay, Harry’s eyes had been so gentle when he looked at Louis, so maddeningly kind. And it just made Louis feel worse. _Don’t you let me off the hook, you big-hearted monster._ He thought.   

“Yeah,” Louis said, softly. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

The mini-golf was at a nearby motel. It was a classic course, with windmills, and tiny schoolhouses, and itty-bitty water hazards, the cement under the water painted bright blue. They were the only ones on the course, so they made a lot of jokes about balls and holes and balls in holes and Louis let his worries drift to the back of his mind.  He let himself relax, happy to be with people again, troublingly happy to be with Harry. It was on the fifteenth hole, as he was in the middle of entertaining Harry with his golf announcer voice, doing his best polite clap when Niall finally sank his putt, that Louis saw Niall glance up and look back and forth between the two of them. His eyes narrowed as they lingered on Harry’s face and an ice cold wave of understanding washed over Louis, raising goose bumps on his arms, the aching knot of shame quickly twisting back into his chest. Niall had known, all along. Niall had always known.

Louis’d always wondered what Niall had suspected, what he’d been aware of, but he’d never had the guts to ask. The closest he’d come to finding out had been years after Harry’d spent that last summer in Doncaster.  Louis was nineteen, just started Uni, it was about a year after he’d finally come out, and Niall had called.  Just a typical call to tell Louis about his latest trip back to Ireland and some sort of unfortunate digestive disaster that had occurred when he’d tried to go for a run the morning after a night of mildly heavy drinking.

But then, at the end of the call, Niall had paused and then said, “Oh, Harry officially came out, you know?”

Louis had been stunned for a second, his heart immediately racing, a light sweat breaking out over his forehead. “oh. No. I—No. I didn’t know.” He’d finally choked out, so glad Niall couldn’t see the expression on his face.  

“Just thought you might be interested.” Niall said, not elaborating further.

 “Does he—” Louis’d stammered, “Does he know—?”

“Yep.” Niall said, cutting him off.

“Oh.” Was all Louis had managed to whisper, almost swallowing the sound as he said it.

 And then there had been a long pause. The silence stretching out for what felt like ages, like Niall was waiting for Louis to say something else, giving him a chance. But Louis’s heart had been pounding and he couldn’t.  He just couldn’t. All he did was swallow thickly and breathe heavily through his nose and think: _Ask me. Ask me. Please ask me_. _Push me on it._ Silently begging to be put out of his misery.  

But Niall hadn’t. Instead he’d sighed and just said. “Yeah.” That was all he’d said, at last. “Yeah. Ok.”

And then they’d said good-bye and gotten off the phone and Louis had a horrible dream that night, a grotesque unsettling nightmare in which he and Harry were Jack and Ralph from the Lord of the Flies and he’d woken up sick to his stomach and full of guilt. And then he’d forced himself not to think of it since.

But now Louis knew for sure, that Niall knew. For all his fun-loving, carefree bluster, Niall always listened closely when Louis needed to talk, he always checked up on Louis when he knew Louis was having a hard time, and he remembered things.  Niall always remembered things Louis told him, even just in passing. Whenever Louis found himself saying, “I don’t know if you remember, but…” Niall was always nodding along and confirming that yep, yep he did, he remembered. He was an excellent friend, Niall. And not just to Louis, but to Harry too. It must have been an idiotic combination of deep denial and self-preservation that Louis had ever convinced himself that Niall might not have been aware of what had been happening when they were kids, that he wouldn’t have had some kind of sense that something might be happening now, at least on Louis’s end.

Louis stole a glance at Niall as they slowly made their way up the gravel driveway to the road.  He felt the same way then as he had back in Uni when Niall had called and told him about Harry. Terrified to discuss things, but secretly, desperately longing to as well. _Ask me_. He thought, as he hopped out of the car to run into the Deli for his buttered roll. _Please, ask me_.

But when Niall finally did, pausing as they were loading cases of beer into the back of Harry’s ridiculous Vista Cruiser, giving Louis another long look before asking if everything was ok, Louis clammed up. Petrified. He wasn’t ready.

“You alright, Lou?” Niall had asked. And Louis’d just nodded rapidly and said, “uh huh.” Even when Niall had said, “okaaay.” Drawing the word out like he didn’t really believe him, opening the door one last time, giving Louis another chance. Louis couldn’t get himself to take it. He spent the drive back to Cutchogue in broody silence, absolutely sure that he’d never get up the nerve to apologize to Harry when he couldn’t even find the strength to tell Niall anything was wrong.

When they got back to the house, after Niall had eased the old station wagon back into the garage, he turned to look at Louis again.

“You gonna have fun at the party, Lou?” He asked, skeptical, like he didn’t think Louis would make an effort. He unbuckled his seatbelt and let it slide off, making no move to exit the car.

“What? Yeah.” Louis said, rubbing at his eyes, trying to convey with his tone that it was a ridiculous question, even though he knew it was not. He kept avoiding eye contact again, staring at the tennis ball that was resting lightly against the windshield, instead. It had been strung from the ceiling to indicate where to stop when pulling into the garage and Louis wondered how long it had been there. Wondered if Harry had strung it up there himself. It seemed like the kind of project Harry would enjoy.

Niall kept looking at Louis, expectant.

Louis gave in and turned to look at Niall with an exaggerated bug-eyed expression. “I will have fun at the party, Niall.” Louis said, finally, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Good.” Niall said, appeased.  He smiled and poked Louis in the ribs, chuckling as Louis shied away. Niall opened the driver’s side door and was half way out of the car, when he popped his head back in to say, “Harry’s really excited about it, just so you know.” And then he was quickly gone, grabbing two forty pound bags of ice out of the back seat and heading over to the coolers to prepare them for the beer.

Louis sat in the car for a minute longer, staring at the stupid tennis ball again, trying not to think too hard about what Niall had been trying to communicate with that last statement. _Quit being such a miserable human being,_ he told himself, groaning. He got out of the car and grabbed more of the ice himself.

 

Harry and Niall had told people to come over around one o’clock, so of course people started trickling in around 1:30. They came with six packs of beer and bottles of wine, even though they’d been instructed not too.  Zayn was the first to arrive, and Louis stood with him by the pool as they nursed beers and watched Niall and Harry greeted everyone.  Harry had dressed stupidly preppy for a change, Nantucket red shorts, topsiders, and a soft white polo. Louis had rolled his eyes, barely preventing himself from asking if Harry planned on popping his collar, too, but the truth was, Harry also looked stupidly beautiful, easily so. The length of the shorts was just right, so his legs looked endless and strong, and the white of the shirt brought out his tan and the speckled green of his eyes, it even made his curls look like a darker chocolate. _Like Long Island summer personified_ , Louis thought grumpily, then he rolled his eyes at himself. He was busy trying not to make it obvious that he was monitoring how long each of the male guests hugged Harry as they said hello, just in case one of them happened to be this blush inducing Nick Grimshaw that Zayn had mentioned at the library, when Niall got sick of playing co-host and roped both of them into a game of croquet.

Niall insisted on creating an enormous court on the sweeping front lawn, indicating where Louis and Zayn should place the wickets by gesturing around with his beer bottle.  He kept shouting to them across the yard about how the bigger the court was, the higher the chance that things would get “epic.” He also insisted on having the maximum number of participants, which turned out to be five since the green mallet in Harry’s family’s croquet set had been broken. “Be right back” he called out over his shoulder, trotting around the house to the pool area and returning with two other guests. Perrie, whose name Louis remembered from the library, and Liam, whose name Louis remembered from when he’d rescued Niall on his trek home from the jitney stop the weekend before. The match ended up taking over two hours and about four beers each, and Louis was not an expert on what it took for Niall to consider something “epic”, but this certainly seemed like it qualified. Especially since Perrie had gotten everyone to sing “that ball is poison” to the tune of Poison, by Bell Biv DeVoe, every time time someone turned poison. Which obviously endeared her to Niall. And Louis too. She ended up winning.

By the time they’d finished up and headed back around the house, still giggling about how Niall had pretty much fallen on his face trying to hop over his mallet like a jump rope, Harry was already decked out in his apron and had the meats on the grill. There was a group of people standing around the grill laughing as Harry cooked, and as Louis drew closer, he immediately knew that the tall man in the center of the circle was Nick Grimshaw. He could feel it in his bones.

Nick was in the midst of telling a story, gesticulating with a glass of white wine as he spoke. His eyes were bright as they moved over the crowd, but they always settled back on Harry and Louis felt a powerful spike of fear, a bolt of white-hot jealousy searing through him because of it, his heartbeat elevating.

“So, somehow we end up at this disgusting bar in Sag Harbor,” Nick continued, smiling as he swirled his wine, “I mean, a real dive. It’s about four in the afternoon at this point and Harold here is just trashed, completely trashed.”

Louis felt his heart clench at the nickname, his eyes locked on Harry, sick to his stomach at the rosy happiness on Harry’s cheeks as Nick told the story.

“Suddenly he turns too me,” Nick did a face, imitating a wide-eyed, drunken Harry, “and whispers, ‘oh my god. Grimmy. That’s Macaulay Culkin. That’s _Macaulay Culkin_!’ and I look up, and sure enough: one of two other people in this shit hole of a bar. It’s Macaulay fucking Culkin.” Nick looked up at Harry with a smirk on his face and Harry smiled in response, rolling his eyes as he flipped a piece of steak on the grill.  Louis swallowed over the lump in his throat. Nick continued, “And Harold said, ‘I gotta talk to him! I’m a _huge_ fan, I gotta talk to him.’ And I was like, ‘whoa, Haz, wasn’t aware. But figures you’d identify with Richie Rich.’”

The whole crowd laughed at that and Louis felt himself bristle, his jaw tightening in irritation. _Home Alone_ , Louis thought, _He loves Home Alone_.

Just as he was thinking it, Harry made a good-natured face at Nick from behind the grill, “Home Alone, actually.” He corrected, doing a feisty little head bob, and Louis felt a ridiculous surge of satisfaction and then frustration rush through him all at once. He wanted credit! Credit for knowing what Nick Grimshaw did not. Credit because he wouldn’t mischaracterize Harry in that way! _You are a moron._ He thought. _It isn’t a competition._ And even if it was, Louis didn’t have any right to hope to be in the running, not with how he’d left things.

“So, Greggy and I are playing darts,” Nick went on. Something loosened ever so slightly in Louis’s chest at the realization that Harry and Nick hadn’t been alone. Nick gestured up to Harry, “And he’s just standing there, staring at Culkin, muttering to himself for like fifteen minutes. Finally, I look over at him and suddenly he’s at the bar, cozied up right next to Macaulay. He comes back over to us, his whole face just like, lit up.” Nick was only looking at Harry now, expression so fond that Louis was digging his fingernails into his palms. Harry just kept on tending to the meats, fighting a little smile as Nick talked, “And Greg and I are like ‘Did you talk to him? What’d you say? Did you tell him you’re a fan?’ and Harry looks so fucking proud of himself and he nods and says, ‘Yeah, I talked to him.’ Leaning against the wall like he’s the coolest Macaulay Culkin fan in the whole entire world. And we’re like okaaay…” Nick made a gesture like, “get on with it”, “and finally Harry says, all smug ‘asked him if they take credit cards here.’.”

There was a burst of appreciative laughter from the group of people surrounding Nick and Harry. Even Louis had to bite down hard over a smile, his lips twitching, endeared. Harry did another exaggerated, happy-to-be-teased eye roll.

Nick continued just as the laughter was dying down, “And then Greg and I are like ‘Well do they, Styles? Do they take credit cards?’ and you should have seen the look on his face, white as a sheet, so so disappointed in himself.” Nick shook his head, pausing to mimic Harry’s expression again, voice a forlorn whisper, “‘I don’t remember.’”

Everyone laughed again and Harry was grinning, shaking his head as he concentrated on adding more hamburger patties to the grill. “Well, I _did_ talk to him.” He mumbled, clearly not bothered at all.

Harry looked up from the grill just as the laughter was dying out, still flushed with pleasure from the attention, and his eyes caught Louis’s for a split second. The pink on his cheeks went a shade darker and he shrugged, giving Louis a sheepish little half smile, making Louis’s heart skip a beat and his throat constrict with emotion. He felt consumed by longing. In that moment, his jealousy went far beyond simple, stupid romantic rivalry with Nick. Louis felt jealous of everyone that knew Harry well, of all these people that got to be around him all the time, that were truly his friends.  He felt jealous of everyone that had gotten to be around him for the past nine years, everyone Harry trusted. Louis wanted to make memories with Harry. He wanted to have so many memories of him he’d never run out. He wanted to be able to tell stories about Harry at parties with love in his voice, like Nick had done. He just wanted Harry, to really know him, so god damn much.

The rest of the party seemed to slip by quickly, a blur of drinks and introductions (Grimshaw’s handshake turned out to be disappointingly non-wimpy) and laughter, and of Niall cannonballing into the pool with all of his clothes on. A little while after the sun had gone down completely, Louis snuck off to the right side of the deck with a beer, over to where two Adirondack chairs looked out over the bay. He felt bone tired and weary, ready for party the to end, and he closed his eyes as he settled in to the chair, letting all of his muscles relax.

“Hey,” Harry said, a couple of minutes later. The deep, slow sound of his voice startled Louis, sending a thrill down his spine. His breath caught in his throat a little, his eyes flying open.

“Hi.” He said, after a beat, his heart racing just from Harry’s proximity. From their aloneness.

“Mind if I sit?” Harry asked, setting his beer bottle on the armrest of the chair next to Louis’s.

“Not at all,” Louis said, shaking his head. He took a deep calming breath that turned into a yawn.

Harry yawned with him reflexively, laughing softly, “I’m tired too.” He said, stretching his endless legs out in front of him.

_Do it now. Do it now. Say it now._

They sat together for a minute and then Harry snorted beside him, laughing wistfully.

“What?” Louis asked.

“Nothing.” Harry said. He gave a small laugh, shaking his head, “Just. My sister calls these the Cialis chairs.” He said, laughing more, low and tired, running a hand through his hair.

Louis laughed with him, “oh.” He shifted in his seat, “’Cause they look like—”

“Yep.” Harry finished for him, “An erectile dysfunction advertisement. Yep.”

“You never know when it might be the right moment.” Louis said, smiling.

He felt Harry laughing beside him, his body shaking softly. “No. No, you do not.” He said.

“You miss her?” Louis asked, even though he knew the answer.

Harry just hummed in agreement, taking a sip of beer, his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

They fell into easy silence after that. The gentle lapping of the water down on the shore, the distant sound of laughter drifting over from party, Harry’s regular breathing, it was all threatening to lull Louis to sleep. _Tell him._ He thought, sleepily. _Do it right now. Just say it, quick._ But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself break the hush that had fallen over them, the comfortable quiet.  Louis just wanted to sit with Harry, have Harry next to him, for a little while longer. Just a few more minutes. A few more seconds. And then it was too late.

“Hey, Styles.” Nick’s voice came carrying over from the edge of the deck, “Is that you? We’re going down to the beach. Niall’s bringing his guitar. You coming?”

Harry stirred next to Louis, running a hand over his face. “Yeah.” He called out weakly, “Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned to Louis, “You coming down?” He asked. He stood up and stretched, his body a ridiculously long shadow against the backdrop of the bay.

“Nah.” Louis said, his palms slick with sweat, guilt blooming in his heart once more. “You go ahead, I think I’m off to bed.”

“You sure?” Harry asked, his eyes glinted in the light from the house. He smiled down at Louis, “It’s nighttime right now, you know, that thing I was telling you about? Where it’s dark? So I could show you those jellyfish.”

Louis smiled, “Show me how they don’t actually glow in the dark, you mean?” The ache inside deepened.

Harry laughed, “Wrong! Wrong! Show you how they do!” He protested.

Louis shook his head. He just wasn’t up for being around people anymore. It was like he wanted to stay with Harry forever but also he couldn’t bear to be around him another second. “Some other time.”

“Ok,” Harry said, as he backed slowly toward the deck and the stairs to the beach, “I’m going to hold you to that, Tommo…I’m going to prove you wrong. You’ll see. You’ll be fucking amazed. Just wait.”

“Alright. If you say so, Hazza. If you say so.” Louis said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice, the ache growing even sharper in his chest.

“I do. I do say so.”

“G’night Harry.” Louis said.

“G’niiiiight.” Harry trilled, his voice rising and falling, and then he was thunking down the wooden steps to the beach.

Louis felt a loss of warmth at Harry’s departure and he shivered and pulled his legs up onto his chair, hugging them to his chest. The sound of Harry’s feet on the stairs grew fainter and fainter, and then Louis heard voices and a gale of laughter as he reached the bottom. Louis picked out Nick’s laughter above all the other’s, ringing out confident and bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the mental image of Nick’s face, so fond as he told that story about Harry earlier in the night. He sighed deeply and got to his feet rather arthritically, stretching like Harry had, before heading back over to the pool house.  Louis passed by Perrie and Zayn on the way, huddled together on the deck, giggling. He would really rather not be around for part of the night where people might start pairing off, if he could avoid it. He slipped into the pool house and crawled into bed without bothering to take off his clothes. He fell asleep with a heavy heart.

 

Louis hid out in the pool house for most of Sunday, lying to Niall about how his hangover was too extreme to join everyone who had stayed over in the kitchen for Harry’s miracle egg bake. He was feeling much too sorry for himself to deal with seeing any evidence that Nick might have spent the night with Harry. He wasn’t really in the mood to see much of anyone, really. So he spent the day actually reading Plum Island for once and eating stale water table crackers and drinking flat diet coke out of a two liter bottle, the only food or drink in the pool house. Besides alcohol. Not that he wasn’t tempted.

Niall came in and out of the pool house all day long, giving him the side eye and also lectures about how he was being horribly anti-social and embarrassing. But Louis didn’t budge, he just rolled over and took another nap.

Niall came back the last time just after 5:00pm. He grabbed his duffle bag out from underneath his bed and started stuffing clothes into it.

“Louis!” He said.

Louis made a grunting noise. He’d been pretending to be asleep.

“Lou, Nick is gone. Everyone’s gone, you can quit playing sick.” Niall said, he went into the bathroom and came back out with a bag of toiletries.

“I’m still hung over.” Louis said, unconvincingly.

“Sure.” Niall said, zipping up the duffle. “Either way, you have to drive me to the ferry, alright?”

“The ferry?” Louis said, confused. He sat up in bed, pretty much for the first time that day.

“Yes. The ferry. To Connecticut.”

“Why are you going to Connecticut?” Louis moaned, flopping on to his back, “Why can’t Harry drive you?” he whined.

Niall came popping back up from under his bed, where he’d been trying to retrieve a shoe, “I told you morons I was going to Boston ages ago!” He shouted, indignant. “Ages ago! I’m visiting Greenie. I’ve been looking forward to it. And Harry can’t drive me because he forgot about it too and he’s already started making tacos for dinner. So get up!”

Louis felt a flicker of happiness for Niall. Greenie was his on again off again girlfriend, Amy Green, and Louis secretly wanted them to end up together, married with children. But he never said it out loud. The little flicker of happiness was vastly outweighed by the adrenaline that shot through him at Niall’s news. _I’ll be alone with Harry for days_. He thought. _I’ll be alone with him for days._

“I’ve never driven in America.”

“s’ only a half hour away, you can drive on the way there, too. Get some practice before I’m gone.”

“Boston’s not in Connecticut.”

Niall looked at him, “No. It isn’t. What’s your fucking point?” he asked, confused.  He was clearly irritated that no one ever paid attention to the things he told them.

“Why are you taking the ferry to—”

“I’ll take the train to Boston when I get to Connecicut, alright? It’s not like they have ferry service that just drops you off wherever you want, Tommo.” He said, looking pointedly at his watch.

“How much time have we got? Can I take a shower?” Louis asked, tentatively.

“Yes. Fine. Make it quick. I want to make the 6’o’clock.” Niall said. He sank down onto his bed, duffle under his feet, sighing and scrubbing his hands over his face, “Harry’s all disappointed I won’t be here for the tacos, so you have to have dinner with him, ok? I don’t care what kind of weird shit you’ve got going on in your head.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, snapping it shut and slouching off to the shower.

 

About forty-five minutes later, Louis turned the station wagon back down Harry’s driveway, pulling slowly into the garage. He came to a complete stop when the stupid tennis ball bounced lightly against the windshield and turned the engine off, leaning forward and resting his head against the steering wheel, trying to collect himself. He was going to do this now. He finally was. He was going to apologize to Harry. They were alone. Niall was not there. No more excuses. It was time. Just the idea of doing it had made him sweat the whole way back from the ferry. His nerves were crackling and there was a strange pain in his joints. _You can do this, you moron_. He thought, _You can definitely do this._ He took one last deep breath and got out of the car.

 Harry was still hard at work making dinner in the kitchen when Louis finally reached the house. He was wearing his favorite apron with the cartoon drawings of sandwiches all over it, bopping around to the Van Morrison that was on the radio like a huge dork, while slicing vegetables for the taco toppings.  He hadn’t heard Louis come in, so Louis eased the sliding glass door shut behind him and leaned quietly back against it, happy to observe Harry undetected for just a little while longer.  He loved it the way Harry kept getting the words to Domino wrong, he didn’t really know them, but then he kept coming in full force for the chorus. For the “Dominos”.  So it would be like “mumble mumble, dance-y move, mumble-hum, dance-y arms….WHOOA-OHHHHH DOMINO... sing the sax noises with more dance-y finger points, do a little chopping, do a little dancing while chopping…spin move over to the fridge. Mumble mumble-hum OHHHH-OHHHHHH DOM-I-NO. a do da do da dooo.”

Louis just stood there, leaning on the glass of the door and smiling softly, watching as Harry continued to sing and dance and cook, watching as Harry continued to be unequivocally and absolutely Harry. Harry was just always Harry, always himself, always so wonderfully himself. The realization and appreciation of this fact made goose bumps raise on Louis’s arms, a blush creeping across his cheeks, his already accelerated heartbeat steadily quickening until it was jack-rabbiting in his chest. Harry being so Harry-like, it just made Louis want to say what he was about to say that much more, as completely terrified as he was.

Louis wiped his hands on his shorts.  A renewed nervous sweat had broken out over his entire body as he prepared himself to speak and there was a strange ringing in his ears, a metallic taste in his mouth. He took a last deep breath, swallowed hard and then cleared his throat.

Harry raised his head at the sound.  Their eyes met. Louis blinked twice. He wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” Was what came out in a flustered stutter, and that seemed as good a place as any. He was still leaning on the door and he pressed his slick palms against the glass. There would definitely be prints. There was probably weird condensation beneath them right now. “I’m-“ He took a shuddering breath, slightly dizzy. Harry had been about to cut into a bell pepper when Louis had spoken and he’d stilled the knife at Louis’s words, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry.” Louis said again, his voice hoarse and wavering, barely above a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest as he continued, “About-about when we were younger. About how I-“ And Louis saw the moment that Harry realized what he was talking about, what he was referring to.  He saw the confused tension melt out of Harry’s shoulders, his body relaxing in to a posture of forgiveness. It pushed Louis closer to tears, shame spreading out through his whole body. Louis could hear the forgiveness in Harry’s voice too, when he said, “ _Louis_.” He tucked his chin a bit as he said Louis’s name, his eyes soft, giving a very small, very soft laugh of what sounded like relief.

“No, no.” Louis said, his hands extended toward Harry now, shaking. He was trying to keep some kind of control over all of the emotion this was dredging up inside of him, “No, let me-“ He struggled. He brought the back of his hand up and rubbed it across his eyes, wincing. “Just let me-I’m so sorry, I’ve always—I’ve always been sorry, Harry.”

“Lou.” Harry said, his head cocked to the side, a rueful half smile on his face. The knife was still in his hand, but it was casually resting on the cutting board next to the pepper now. “It’s ok.”

Louis shook his head, swallowing repeatedly over the giant lump in his throat. “It’s not—” He said, his cheeks were blazing with the shame of it now. “It wasn’t ok. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. And then after. That’s not—I’ve always felt so—.” He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, burning, threatening to spill over the edges. Just like they had that night, when he’d sobbed into his pillow after Harry had gone home to the Horan’s.  After Louis had chased him away. It had been a perfect night, so summery and velvety and Niall had gotten overly sunburnt at the lake that afternoon and he’d gone home to bed early, whining about how he just could _not_ be wearing anything more than underpants right now, it was too painful. So they were alone together for once, Harry and Louis. They were flirting on the porch, like they always had been, flirting. And Harry’s eyes had been hooded, so dreamy and happy, almost sparkling.  And then he had given a small sigh and leaned in and kissed Louis, ever so softly, on the lips. “I felt so terrible, Harry. I’ve felt so terrible about it.” Because Louis’d only let himself kiss Harry back for second, a split second, even though it was kind of all that he wanted in the whole world. And then he’d acted so horrified, and shocked, and so disgusted by Harry and it had been almost ten years, almost exactly nine, actually, but it felt to Louis like it had happened last night. Whenever he thought of it, it felt like it had happened last night. Like a fresh cut. An open wound. He felt sick to his stomach, so ashamed of himself and how afraid he had been and of how cruelly he had acted because of it.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry said, again, gently. His eyes were wide and understanding and so kind, so familiar, so Harry. He set his knife down on the counter and sighed, shaking his head. He looked pained that Louis was feeling pain, and Louis could feel the tears on his face now, leaving tracks on his cheeks. “We were so young. You were so young.” Harry said, as if that explained Louis’s behavior away, as if that made it all ok, “It’s ok. It’s really ok.”

Louis shook his head too, crossing his arms over his chest, swallowing hard again. “No.  It wasn’t. It wasn’t ok—How-How did you always know what you wanted? You were always so—so sure of yourself—I-I was afraid of you.” He choked out. “I was scared of y-you, of _it_. But mostly me. I was just so scared of myself. All the time. Terrified. And that’s—That’s why—I couldn’t—I-I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“I know. I knew.” Harry said, quietly, his voice reassuring. He started removing his apron, coming around from behind the counter, moving toward Louis. “I knew--” He stopped in the middle of the room and sighed sadly, running a hand through his hair, still looking at Louis softly, “I was sad at the time. Of course. I mean, I was hurt. And angry. But—,” he sighed again shaking his head, “I knew—I knew why, Louis. I was scared—I was scared too. And it’s ok. It’s really ok. I know you are sorry. I knew how you felt.” He looked Louis right in the eyes and said again, “I forgave you, a long time ago. I forgive you, now. You’re ok. It’s ok.”

“You were so nice to me, always. Even—even after. How are you always—I’m so sorry, Harry, I’m just so sorry.” Louis whispered.  He needed to say it again, a few times, maybe a hundred, now that he’d finally gotten it out in the open. He’d been haunted by it for so long, hiding from it for so long.

Harry crossed the rest of the living room and stood in front of Louis, empathy clear on his face, “Louis. It’s ok. Really. I appreciate you apologizing. I really do. And I accept it.” He said, looking at Louis with clear, tender eyes, making him want to die. “I accept your apology. _It is ok_.” He said, again, emphasizing the words as he said them, as if that was final. 

Louis let out a shuddering breath, wiping at his face. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I really am sorry.”

Harry furrowed his brow at Louis, just taking him in for a minute, his eyes darting all over his face. “Why—,” he started, cutting himself off, brow furrowing further, his eyes never leaving Louis. “Are you—Are you still scared?” he asked, at last, slowly bringing his fingers to lips over the start of tiny smile.

“What?” Louis croaked, his heartbeat skittering. The way Harry was looking down at him, his eyes hot and searching and a little knowing, it was making Louis's skin tingle and itch. “Of what?” he asked in a squeak.

“Of yourself.” Harry said, plainly, his lips twitching against a slightly bigger smile. He shrugged and blinked slowly, “Of me.”

 “No.” Louis said reflexively, but then he sucked in a sharp breath as Harry stepped closer, “I mean—well. Yes. Yes.” He conceded, he went to take a step backwards, forgetting that the sliding glass door was right behind him, and his heel banged against the base of it, making it vibrate in its track. “but not—not in the same—D-do you still know what you want?” He stammered nervously, taking another irregular breath as Harry inched closer.  He knew he must look so ridiculously wide-eyed and obvious. He was practically trembling.

Harry chewed on the inside of his lip as if contemplating the question, his eyes still moving over Louis’s face.  They were full of wonder and hope and what looked like a steely glint of desire and Louis thought he might faint because of it. It felt like his blood had thickened inside of him, aching in his veins, like he could feel the pounding force of his pulse in each one of his capillaries. Harry raised his hands to the sides of Louis’s shoulders, his fingers closing over them, his grip firm. He leaned forward until his mouth was just behind Louis’s left ear, his nose brushing into Louis’s hair.

“I do.” Harry whispered, his voice a deep husky rasp. Louis gave a strange strangled gasp as the words sent a hot chill pulsing right down his spine, reverberating through the rest of his body, making him feel like his bones were turning to putty.  Harry moved his hands to Louis’s face, cupping Louis’s jaw and running his thumbs lightly over the paths the tears had left on his cheeks. He let out a measured sighed and then angled Louis’s head to the side and kissed him, sweet and delicate, a gentle, perfect brush of his lips against Louis’s. It was almost a question, and the realization made a deep ache bloom in Louis’s chest, his emotions swelling up even more sharply inside of him. He let out a small, ruined moan, completely undone.

“ _Harry._ ” He whispered, breathless, resting their foreheads together, his hands threading into Harry’s hair. “Harry, I—,” he choked out, swallowing a sob. It felt like the combination of adrenaline and lust and raw emotion he was experiencing was creating a dangerous chemical cocktail inside of him, like he might just drop out of consciousness at any moment, like longing for Harry would annihilate him if he wasn’t careful. He took another deep breath, steadying himself against Harry, still swaying slightly on his feet. “God. I—I want—I want you so much.” He breathed out, nuzzling closer, feeling on the verge of tears again. He paused, and leaned back so he could look up into Harry’s beautiful eyes, shaking his head and feeling like his heart might burst, like he skin was on fire.

And then Harry moaned out a broken, “ _Lou_.” And he was kissing Louis again, hot and insistent this time, pressing him back against the glass of the door and licking into his mouth with an urgent, almost desperate need. He let out another low moan as Louis kissed him back, almost crazed with desire, matching Harry’s desperation, twisting his fingers deeper into Harry's hair, trying to get as close as possible. Louis had never been so turned on in his entire life, it was piercing and electric and immediate, completely overwhelming, crackling through his body like all of the synapses were firing at once.

“ _Fuck_.” Louis whispered, as Harry’s lips trailed up his neck, sucking at his pulse point, his hips grinding into Louis’s.

“Louis. _God._ ” Harry murmured against his skin, “So fucking fit.” He lowered his hands to Louis’s ass and squeezed, groaning as he pulled Louis even more flush against him, the hard line of his arousal apparent, the contact causing Louis to gasp, even more want searing through him. “I’ve wanted since—God.” Harry whispered, taking a ragged, hiccupping inhalation of breath.  He pulled back and peered down at Louis from heavy lidded, lust blurred eyes, looking like a well kissed baby angel, lips plumped, cheeks pink, his curls a mess from Louis’s hands. Harry blinked and smiled shyly, brushing Louis’s hair back off his forehead with an unsteady hand and Louis surged up and kissed him again, his blood thundering in his ears, unable to control himself any longer. He felt like his body was being consumed and flooded by pure joy and so much fucking longing that if he didn’t touch the naked skin of Harry Styles’s miracle of a torso in the next 30 seconds his complete annihilation really would occur. He’d turn into sexually frustrated love-mist right there in Harry’s living room.

“Haz,” he murmured against Harry’s lips, walking him backward toward the couch, tugging at the bottom of Harry’s worn cotton t-shirt as they went. He looked up at Harry with a crooked smile, his cheeks hot, “Take this off?” he asked, tugging on it again, brow raised. Harry chuckled and obliged him, pulling it off over his head and then easing down onto the cushions, laying his endless body out on the couch before Louis. Louis bit his lip, sitting down at Harry’s hip, his breath coming ragged and irregular as he drank Harry in.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, voice hushed in awe, as he watched his hands move across the warm supple skin of Harry’s upper body.  He wanted to touch Harry forever. He looked up and met Harry’s eyes, slightly bashful, and said it again, meaning it so much. “So so beautiful, Harry. You’re so beautiful.” He felt his heart stutter in his chest, heat pooling further in his groin as Harry’s already heavy eyelids fluttered at his words. He shivered under Louis’s touch, rising up into it, his chest heaving.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Harry hissed, fisting a hand in his own hair as he watched Louis work at the zip of his pants with trembling hands. “Lou,” he choked out in a gasp as Louis finally pushed the tight black denim down off Harry’s hips, briefs going with them.  Harry’s cock was already flushed and full against his stomach and Louis encircled it with his fingers, caressing lightly at first, relishing in the feel of it in his hand, the springy resistance, the perfect weight of it in his palm.  Each stroke drew small keens of pleasure from Harry’s throat, his hips bucking up slightly into Louis's hand.  Louis was so turned on it was becoming almost unbearable, his own cock painfully hard in his shorts. His heart was racing to the point of dizziness, he almost couldn’t believe it was real, that it was actually happening. It felt like an out of body experience. He locked his wide eyes on Harry’s as he lowered his head to take him in his mouth. Harry swore under his breath, writhing slightly as Louis took him deep, once or twice, before pulling off to pay special attention to the head, a sure hand at the base. Harry became less and less coherent, tugging at Louis’s hair and muttering about how he wasn’t going to last, as Louis continued to suck him off, bobbing slowly now, gradually increasing the pace, his cheeks hollowing as he took Harry down further again, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“ _Louis_.” Harry gave a deep strangled groan and came down Louis’s throat, his hips lifting off the couch. “Oh God. _Louis_.” He breathed out, completely wrecked as he rode it out. Louis couldn’t get his hand on his own cock fast enough as he took in Harry’s ruined appearance, his mottled skin and sweat dampened curls, eyes drugged out and dazed, biting his lip as he watched Louis work himself over. “ _Fuck_.” Louis said, tugging once, twice more and then coming hard in his hand, still in his boxers.  He slumped forward on to Harry as the pleasure swept through him in waves. He was utterly spent and boneless, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Harry slipped a large, warm hand under Louis’s t-shirt as they lay on the couch recovering, running it up and down the length of Louis’s back and rubbing softly, the touch reassuring and lovely.  He was humming Domino under his breath contentedly as he did so and it was, again, so Harry and so sharply wonderful that Louis started to laugh quietly into Harry’s chest, scrunching up his face because he actually physically hurt from happiness.

“What?” Harry asked, smiling down at him.

Louis shook his head, unable to explain.

“Shit!” Harry said, bolting up off the couch, knocking Louis to the side. “My tacos!” He tugged he jeans back on while hopping over to the stove in a jerky waddle, looking like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins when he’s pretending to be a penguin. Louis leaned back against the couch cushions, chuckling to himself, overwhelmingly endeared.

“Burnt the meat.” Harry said, glumly, shoving the blackened hamburger around in the pan with a wooden spoon. “Oopsie.”

And that was it. That’s when Louis knew for sure he was in love. “Oopsie.” That’s all it took to confirm it.  He blinked and stared blankly at Harry from across the living room, trying to prevent creeping insecurity from wrapping itself around his heart. So what if he didn’t know what Harry was doing when the summer was over? So what if he didn’t know for sure if Harry would ever love him back? If he didn’t know what this meant to Harry at all? Right now he needed to eat empty flour tortillas for dinner with the most wonderful boy in the world. He could figure the rest of it out later. Louis could handle that. Sure he could.

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to RAOTS ([100percentsassy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/100percentsassy/pseuds/100percentsassy))  
> for listening to me complain about writing and being super supportive! I love you more than Louis loves CMM.
> 
> I'm on tumblr, too. so you know. we could be friends or something: [gloriaandrews](http://gloriaandrews.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Feedback appreciated!!

“Louis, it’s nighttime.” Harry said, as he plopped down onto the couch. He had his back against the armrest so he was perpendicular to Louis. He tucked his fists up into the sleeves of the lightweight sweater his was wearing, inching his bare feet under the side of Louis’s thigh.

“Hm?” Louis responded, distracted.  He brushed his hair out of his eyes and kept reading, John Irving now, A Prayer For Owen Meany. The pages smelled like saltwater and sunscreen. Harry said it was one of Gemma’s favorites, she was always taking it down to the beach. Louis was premeditating its theft.  

“It’s dark.” Harry said, poking at Louis a little with his big toe.

Louis turned to look at him, blinking.  The only light in the living room was coming from a small lamp on the end table to Louis’s right and Harry was low lit and beautiful across from him, his strong features casting shadows on his face, the straight line of his eyebrows dark and perfect. Louis felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a bittersweet tug at his heart. It was the end of August. He would be moving into the city in three days. 

“The jellyfish.” Harry prompted; he was chewing on the edge of his thumbnail, a small smile on his face. “It’s time.”

Louis swallowed thickly, nodding. Somehow they hadn’t managed to get down to the beach at night to see them, even after all this time. They’d always been too busy, or too sleepy, or too horny, or the tide hadn’t been right.  

“Down at the point?” Louis asked, setting his book on the coffee table and standing up to stretch. According to Harry, the best place to see these supposedly iridescent jellyfish was the very end of the point, when the tide was low.

Harry nodded, smiling softly up at Louis. He’d moved so he was sitting on the edge of the couch, feet flat on the floor, and he beckoned Louis to him, tilting his head back and silently asking for a kiss.

  _I love you. I love you._ Louis thought, as their lips brushed together. Or felt, rather. His whole pulse was love for Harry really, aching inside him as it beat in his cheeks and out to the tips of his fingers and toes. The wistful knot of sadness in his stomach intensified as Harry tangled their fingers together, his eyelashes soft against Louis’s cheeks as they kissed. Harry was leaving too, with Niall. Back to Britain and a three-month tour, opening for Ed Sheeran. Louis didn’t know after that. He was too chicken shit to ask. Harry hadn’t volunteered the information.

“Where are your keys?” Louis asked, after they broke apart, tugging on Harry’s hand a little and glancing up at the breakfast bar for the keys to the station wagon.  

Harry snorted. “We’re not driving down to the point, Louis.”

“It’s like a mile!” Louis protested, yanking on Harry’s hand more forcefully, like an impatient child.

Harry just smirked up at him, still sitting on the couch, as if to say, “yeah, exactly. It’s only a mile.”

“…and it’s dark…” Louis finished weakly, in a whine.

Harry chuckled, his eyes scrunched up, small and happy as he laughed. Louis loved him. Harry shook his head, “That’s kind of the point, it being dark. And I’m not really sure what you’re scared of, Lou. Just a bunch of dumb deer and maybe a raccoon?”

Louis gave Harry a look, tilting his head to the side and bulging his eyes out a bit, “I heard those raccoons in the trash last night, ok? Seemed pretty bold to me. Like maybe they’d lost their fear of humans.”

Harry kept laughing quietly. “I promise that if we get charged by a raccoon, I’ll shield you with my body, alright?”

Louis failed in a fight against a smile, shrugging, “I’m not going to forget you said that.” He said.

Harry smiled broadly, getting to his feet directly in front of Louis and pulling him to his chest. He tucked Louis’s head in under his chin and squeezed him. Louis’s heart lurched, it felt like it was perpetually lodged in his throat these days.

“So we’ll walk then?” Harry asked, his voice mildly triumphant through a yawn.  

Louis nodded.

“I’ll get a flash light.” Harry said, letting Louis go. He vaulted over the back of the couch and hurried into the kitchen, jerking open random drawers and rifling through them.

“On second thought.” Louis said, running his hand through his hair. Harry looked up at him, brows raised. “I mean, if a raccoon charges us, it’s probably got rabies, so. You know, don’t be a hero, Harry. I expect you to run away screaming, just like me.”

Harry laughed, “Ok.” He said with a nod, a twinkle in his eye. “But I’ll still hold your hand while we run.”

“Oh _brother_.” Louis said, doing an exaggerated eye roll, even though his cheeks were pink from pleasure and from loving Harry’s ridiculousness so much. Harry cackled in delight at his response.

A few seconds later, he slammed a drawer shut and held up small yellow flashlight. “Got it!” He said, “Let’s go.” He nodded toward the front door.

Louis slipped his hoodie on and jammed his feet into his flip-flops, following behind him to the front door. He let Harry guide him out into the night with an arm around his shoulders.

 

Louis had taken Niall to the Orient Point Ferry again earlier that day. Harry had been busy in the basement, still tweaking their record, trying to get the production just right, so he hadn’t come along. Niall was off to see Greenie one more time before heading home, flying out of Boston instead of New York. Louis and Niall had sat together at a picnic table by the snack truck in the ferry parking lot, having a little farewell lunch of their own.

“Are you excited?” Niall had asked, taking an unsightly bite of his roast beef sandwich. The saran wrap it came in was flapping in the wind and he quickly balled it up in his hand. “About school?”

Louis nodded mutely, taking a bite of his own sandwich. Some sort of pesto chicken. The chicken was dry.

“Don’t seem too excited.” Niall had said. He raised his eyebrows a little skeptically.

“No. No. I am.” Louis said. He smiled wanly at Niall and reached out to ruffle his hair, “Going to miss you. That’s all.”

“Miss _me_?” Niall asked with a scoff, very skeptical.

Louis had given a soft, surprised laugh, an embarrassed thrill running through him.

“And Harry.” He conceded, swallowing more dry chicken and washing it down with diet coke, “Yeah, I’ll miss Harry.”

“What’s the deal there?” Niall asked. He shook his large fountain soda around, rattling the ice, trying to dislodge some mountain dew from it, get one last sip.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, his heart thrumming in his chest. He shifted awkwardly on the picnic bench.

“Like, what’s the plan. Is he coming back here after our tour, then?”

“Has he said anything about it?” Louis asked in a squeak, tensing, his whole body on high alert.

“Have you guys not talked about it?” Niall asked, in confused disbelief.

Louis shrugged, misery and dry pesto chicken heavy in his stomach.

“What the fuck.” Niall said. He pried the lid off his soda and starting eating the ice cubes, tapping the bottom of the cup so they slid into his mouth and then crunching noisily on them.  

“I’m not—” Louis shrugged again, “I think he thinks this is it. I don’t think—”

Niall made a noise, abruptly setting his soda cup down on the table, “You _think_ he thinks this is it? Do you think that’s what he _wants_?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t talked about it. I don’t—I don’t know for sure what he wants.” Louis admitted meekly, lightheaded. Just discussing it with Niall was making him dizzy, even thought it was pretty much all he ever thought about anymore.

“Well, fucking ask him about it, then.”

Louis just bit his lip.

“You know what _you_ want, right? Like, I’m not making that part up?”

Louis shook his head, in a stilted, jerky motion. “No. I know what I want.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Well, he hasn’t—” Louis took a ragged breath and shook his head again, “He hasn’t brought it up. At all. So. I don’t know. I mean. _He_ knows where _I’ll_ be.” He said, gesturing to himself.

Niall gave him a look, unimpressed.

Louis lowered his forehead to the picnic table, slowly, giving a feeble laugh, “I’m scared, Niall.” He whined, groaning.

Niall laughed sympathetically and patted him on the head. “I know you are.” He said.

“I’m in love with him.” Louis whispered, miserable, feeling the sick sense of preemptive longing he got whenever he thought about Harry leaving. Like he missed him already, like Harry was already gone. He cushioned his head on his arm, not looking up to meet Niall’s eyes as he spoke.

“Yeah. I knew that, too.” Niall said. “Why don’t you tell him?”

Louis looked up then, grumpy and a little indignant, “Did you not hear the first part, Nialler? I’m scared. That’s why.”

Niall laughed and shook his head.

“Oh give me a break.” Louis said. He shoved his fringe out of his eyes, irritated by the way the breeze kept pushing it around on his forehead. “Everyone always makes that sort of thing sound so much easier than it is. It’s fucking terrifying, really.” He looked at Niall again and rolled his eyes at himself, “Just now I was hoping you’d say he loved me back. That you’d be like ‘well he loves you too, he told me. It’s been a big misunderstanding.’ And then it would be so easy.” He gestured to Niall, “I’d abandon you here by the ferry and rush home to Harry, like in the movies.”

Niall let out a pained laugh and patted Louis on the arm. “Oh Lou.” He said. He shook his head. “No, we haven’t talk about it.  I wish we had because I’m pretty sure he does, love you, I mean. Watching you guys together. The way he is with you. I just assumed.”

“Why hasn’t he said it?”

“I don’t know, the same exact fucking reasons as why you haven’t, maybe?”

“But he’s braver than me.” Louis pointed out, in a whine, ripping up his straw wrapper as he talked, “I’m a pathetic scared-y cat. Harry isn’t.”

“Oh why, because he didn’t act like a purposefully oblivious moron about things when you were kids?” Niall asked, “Is that what you’re basing that on?”

Louis shrugged, “maybe.” He whispered, resting his chin back on his arm and looking out at the bay. “Did you always know?” he murmured. “When we were kids, did you know?”

Niall shook his head. “No.” He picked up the remnants of Louis’s sandwich, frowning after he bit into it. “I mean, it made a lot of sense to me afterward. After Harry told me—this sandwich is not very good.” He said, setting it back down where Louis had left it.

“When did he tell you?” Louis asked.

“A little while after he came out.”

Guilt swirled in Louis’s stomach, familiar shame.

“I’m awful.” He whispered.

“You are fine.” Niall said. He took the bread off the chicken and started eating that. “It really made sense in retrospect though, ‘cause you guys actually used to make me feel like, left out, sometimes. In a way I couldn’t understand.” He looked at the ground for a minute, lost in thought.  He laughed, shaking his head, “I can remember trying to ban you from being able to pick each other as partners when we were playing pictionary with my parents and Greg. I was jealous, but I didn’t know of what.” He shrugged, “I didn’t get it yet.”

“I love you, Nialler.” Louis said.

“I love you, too.” Niall said, with a little laugh, tossing his garbage into the trashcan next to the table. “Which is why I think you should talk to Harry, who I also love. And who I also want to be happy.”

Louis swallowed nervously.

“Harry’s never been in love before, you know?” Niall said. He stood up, adjusting and readjusting his backpack straps, wrangling his roller suitcase. The ferry was almost done boarding; he had to get going soon.

Louis took a deep breath and sighed, he didn’t know, hadn’t known. They hadn’t talked about it. But he wanted to know, so sharply, he wanted to know everything about Harry.

“I’m just saying, Lou. I mean, maybe this time he just needs you not to be the scared one, for once.” His eyes were gentle as he finished speaking.

“Maybe,” Louis whispered, terrified and hopeful and terrified about being hopeful all at once. And he was sad too, that Niall was leaving, that the summer was slipping away.  He went around the picnic table and reeled Niall into a hug. “Have a good time in Boston.” He said, “Tell Amy I said hi. And have a great time on the road. Take lots of pictures and stuff.”

Niall nodded against his shoulder.

“Thank you for having me out here.” Louis said, as he let Niall go.

“Thank _you_ for walking into the screen door with that bowl of ice cream last week.” Niall said, laughing. “Made it all worth it.”

“I could have been hurt!”

“Never not funny. Lou.” Niall said, smiling beatifically and shaking his head slowly from side to side, “Never _ever_ not funny.”

They stood quietly together, looking out at the water and watching as the last cars drove slowly onto the ferry, until the horn sounded and Niall had to go for real.

“Don’t be an idiot, Louis.” Was the last thing Niall had said before he walked away, his suitcase pitching from side to side, threatening to topple over on its wheels. “Talk to him!” he called out over his shoulder, “Tell him! Don’t be an idiot!”

Louis had sat on top of the picnic table and waited as the ferry pulled away from the pier, watching as it got smaller and smaller, disappearing as it rounded Orient Point.

“Fuck,” He said, and then he’d driven back to Nassau Point, back to Harry, afraid that he would never stop being an idiot, specifically afraid that he’d never stop being an idiot about Harry for the rest of his life.

 

The rocks in the driveway crunched under their feet as they made their way up the slope to the road. Harry was slightly ahead of Louis, but he turned back when he reached the top, smiling at him and reaching out his hand.

“You’re going to love it, Louis.” He said quietly. “They really do light up, I swear to god.”

It was a cloudless night but the moon was only a sliver and Louis could just make out Harry’s eyes in the dark, shining in the reflected moonlight off the bay. He could still see the sincerity in them, though, the lovely Harry-ness. And he’d wanted to tease, keep Harry thinking he didn’t believe him about the jellyfish until they got down to the beach, until he actually saw one, but as Harry took his hand, so softly calloused and big and warm around his own, he felt choked by longing, dizzy with it. He just wanted to tell Harry the truth. About how much he’d miss him, about how much the summer had meant to him, about how very much he loved him, about everything. He could hear Niall’s stupid voice in his head, _don’t be an idiot, tell him_. But Louis was, he was an idiot, so he started small. With the truth about the jellyfish.

“I believe you.” He murmured.

Harry looked down at him, surprised but pleased, “Oh? When did you decide that?”

“Always believed you, Haz.” Louis said. He pulled himself up against Harry’s side, leaning into him as they continued up the road. He wanted to feel Harry next to him forever, keep him close for always.

“Just wanted to give me a hard time?” Harry asked.

Louis smiled and nodded, his face nudging against the side of Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, great Lou, now I don’t even get to say I told you so.” Harry said, squeezing his hand. Louis could hear the smile in his voice.

“Sorry,” Louis said, yawning and snuggling closer.

“No.” Harry said, “I’m just kidding. It’ll be nice, anyway.” He hummed in happiness before kissing Louis softly on the top of his head, smiling into his hair.

Louis closed his eyes against the rush of emotion it sent through him. It almost hurt sometimes, how gentle Harry was with him, how tender. It was like Harry was handling him with particular care, with love, really. In those moments, Louis could almost completely believe that Harry loved him back, that he felt the same way. It almost seemed unfair for Harry to treat him that way if he didn’t. But then Louis would inevitably second-guess himself, feel worried that it was just Harry’s fundamental kindness, his basic decency that made him act that way.  

Louis had brought it up once, a few weeks before, after they’d gone on a day trip to Shelter Island. They’d driven to Greenport with Harry’s ridiculously childish bikes in the back of the station wagon and then walked them onto the ferry. They spent the entire afternoon tooling around the island, visiting various beaches and talking about how great cedar shakes siding really was. It had almost been dusk by the time they’d taken the return ferry and the harbors had been beautiful, bathed in buttery light, the water sparkling. They stood next to each other at the side of the ferry and watched the sailboats go by and then Harry had put a hand on the back of Louis’s neck, his strong fingers rubbing just the right amount, because Louis had mentioned hours ago that it hurt a little from hunching over on his bike. Louis’s heart was already aching because Harry looked so lovely in the slanting golden sunlight and he just couldn’t stand it any more. 

“Why are you so nice to me, Harry?” He’d asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his grip tight on his rib cage. He’d made a half-assed attempted to make it sound lighthearted and rhetorical, but he couldn’t sell it. It came out earnest, which it was.

Harry’s head had jerked back in surprise, and he’d blinked rapidly for second and then stared down at his feet. When he looked back up at Louis he was shaking his head, his brow furrowed, eyes unreadable, “It’s—It’s on purpose, Louis. It’s because I like you.”

Louis’s heart had been pounding and he’d had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from blurting out, “Well, I _love_ you.” Instead he just blinked rapidly himself and then squeaked out, “Oh. Ok. I like you too.” And they’d gone back to watching the sailboats in silence, Louis’s heart aching even more.

Louis shook the thoughts of it from his mind, sighing and tightening his grip on Harry’s hand as they moved over to the shoulder of the road to let a car pass, “How much further to the point?” He asked, as they waited in the shadow of an exotic and expensive looking hedge.

Harry snorted. He didn’t respond. They’d only walked about fifty yards.

 

Niall and Harry had gig at a bar in Mattituck about two weeks after Louis had finally apologized to Harry. The Broken Down Valise, it was called. Louis sort of loved the name. He’d felt a little bit uneasy about the prospect of finally hearing Harry sing. A little bit like, don’t I love you enough, already? Don’t I want you enough all the time, as it is? He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to avoid it so long, always scurrying down to the beach when the boys were recording, making lame excuses about not wanting to get in the way. But this time there was no getting out of it. Niall and Harry loved the Broken Down Valise. It was a small run down little townie bar across the street from the LIRR station. They didn’t usually have live music, but Niall had stopped in for pints carrying his guitar so many times on his way back out from the city that he’d struck up a friendship with the owner, who’d finally asked if he and Harry wanted to perform sometime. To which the answer had been an emphatic yes. The two of them were so excited about playing there, it would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t been so adorable.

Niall kept bouncing around the living room, shouting “BDV!!! BDV!!” Until Harry told him to shut up and that no one called it that, even though he was grinning the entire time.

So, obviously Louis had to go, he wanted to. Even more so because Grimshaw would be there. Louis had rolled his eyes when Harry told him, his brow comically dark. He could just picture Nick there in his head. Just see him. He’d be leaned back against the bar, all confident and moneyed and relaxed, like he owned the place, and then he’d look up and wink at Harry up on the stage, smirking at Louis as he did it. Ugh. What a prat.

The Valise had been pretty crowded that night, mostly full of Harry and Niall’s friends, but Louis and Liam found a good spot to the right of the bar with an open view of the makeshift platform the boys were playing on. Niall and Harry were only doing a short acoustic set, sat side by side on bar stools, guitars on their knees, their excitement palpable, and Louis’s heart swelled with pride for both of them as they settled in.

Harry looked so pretty in the crude stage lights, dimples deep, his hair pulled off his forehead by an American flag bandana. He’d smiled and then bent his head over his microphone and said, “Hiiiiiii Evveryone. I’m Harry. This is Niall. And we’re Adventure Squad.”

Louis had choked on his beer when he heard the name; splashing more than a little of it down his front. Previously they’d just been going the much less flashy “Styles and Horan” and Louis wondered if “Adventure Squad” was a permanent change or if they were just teasing him. His eyes met Harry’s and Harry winked. And then he and Niall had started to play.

Louis had been deeply impressed right from the start. They began with an incredible Pink Floyd cover, Harry knocking out the rhythms from the intro to “Time” on his guitar with his knuckles while Niall played the chords. It was amazing, and they didn’t let up from there, switching off between original songs and covers, going all in on everything. Both of them were wonderful up there. Niall was so easily comfortable and joyful, bantering with crowd. And Harry. God. Harry was absolutely magnetic, lit up from within, a terrible monster of charisma on stage. Louis couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The second to last song of the night was a cover of Dolly Parton’s Jolene. Harry sang solo, Niall accompanying him on the guitar, and the strength of the performance knocked the wind right out of Louis. He’d had to lean back against the bar for support, heady with it. He was transfixed by the jut of Harry’s jaw as he sang, by the way the sinews in his neck strained when he held a note. And he was completely undone by the weight of emotion Harry managed to put into every plaintive line. It was so achingly heartfelt, Louis didn't know if he'd heard anything like it, ever before in his life.

His mind raced back to the first night they’d been alone together, after collecting mussels in the cove, the conversation they’d had over dinner on the deck. _Am I going to be famous??_ Louis thought, remembering how they’d discussed his acting. _Am_ I _going to be famous?? That little shit_. Harry was a star. He was undeniably a star.  _If_ anyone _is going to be famous,_ Louis thought, absolutely floored. He was so distracted by his struggle to process this new information about Harry that he missed the last song. He was still far away, stunned and breathless, when Niall came bounding over to them from the stage, completely wired from the performance, demanding beer. Liam clapped Niall on the back, handing him a pint and saying congratulations and all Louis could do was raise his chin in acknowledgement. Even as Harry slotted in next to him at the bar, his arm loose around Louis’s waist, big hand resting on Louis’s hip, Louis still felt dazed, in some kind of limbo-like state of awe.  
"You were..." He couldn't find the right word. He kept casting around in his mind and nothing seemed big enough to encompass it. Nothing seemed precise enough to describe it accurately. "You were good." was all he managed before taking a long swallow of beer.

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling down at him all dimply, before signaling to the bartender to for a pint of his own.

“Very good.” Louis echoed weakly.

They turned away from the bar, forming a circle as people drifted over to tell Niall and Harry what a good set it had been, how amazing they were.

“Well done boys, well done.” The sound of Nick Grimshaw’s voice finally had Louis jolting all the way back to reality, his head snapping up to get a look at him. “Definitely deserve the tour.” Nick continued, knocking his pint glass against Niall’s and smiling widely at Harry.

“Tour?” Louis had asked.

“Yeah, tour?” Nick said. His brow furrowed quizzically, as if this had been widely known information, as if Louis was the only one who wasn’t aware. Which had apparently been the case, judging by everyone else’s faces. “In September? In England? With that red haired kid that’s supposed to be a big deal.”

“Sheeran!” Niall supplied. “Thought you knew, Lou!”

“Oh,” Louis said quietly, feeling a sinking weight of disappointment settle in his stomach. “No.” he finished, “I didn’t. ‘s great though.” He somehow managed a weak smile.

It wasn’t the fact that they were going on tour that was upsetting him, making all the blood drain slowly out of his face and it feel like he was sinking into the floor, that wasn’t it at all. He of all people knew that Harry and Niall deserved it, having just been punched in the gut by seeing them perform live. It was that Harry hadn’t even thought to tell him. That Harry had obviously not been entertaining the possibility that whatever they were doing would last beyond the summer, beyond Louis’s stay on the North Fork.  Louis stared hard at a spot on the floor by Nick’s shoes, hoping his expression wasn’t giving everything away. He could feel Harry’s eyes on the side of his face, darting around and taking him in and he had to struggle to ignore it.

“I have to pee.” He muttered finally, setting his beer on the bar and hurrying through the saloon-style swinging doors that lead to the restrooms. He stared at himself in the mirror after he’d peed, widening his eyes at himself sadly, trying to maximize his patheticness for purposes of self-pity.

When he’d finally gone back out to the bar, Harry and Nick were huddled together talking and Louis didn’t have the emotional capacity to interrupt. He’d gotten involved in a game of darts with Perrie and Zayn instead, and it was another hour before he saw Harry again, bumping into him on his way to get a pint.

“Lou.” Harry said, looking at him with his lovely doe eyes wide and careful, like Louis might bolt.

“Yeah?” He’d mumbled in return, staring at Harry’s chest, unable to meet his eyes, his heart pounding.

“About the tour—” Harry started.

“It’s great, Harry.” Louis said, mustering all of his inner-strength in order to look up at him, willing his smile to please, please reach his eyes. He was an actor damn it, he could do this.. “It’s—it’s really great. I’m excited for you guys.” Summer love. Yeah, he could handle that. It would be all right.

“I just—” Harry said, shaking his head, “I didn’t say anything because I thought—I thought Niall had already told you.  I thought you knew.” He looked so worried and concerned, and Louis felt more heavy sadness settling into his stomach at the realization that Harry had thought that they were on the same page, that they both knew it would be over in September, that they both knew about the tour. Louis felt stupid about his reasons for being upset earlier, irrational almost, knowing how Harry was. Because of course Harry was too thoughtful to have put himself in a position where there was an imbalance of information. Of course he’d thought Louis knew about the tour. Otherwise he would have said something. He’d have wanted Louis to know there was a necessary expiration date on whatever was going on. Harry would never have wanted anyone to be in a position where they might get hurt.

 “It’s ok, Harry. _Really_. I mean. I’m starting school in the fall, anyway. So, I mean, I figured.” He tried to keep his tone light. Breezy. _Yeah you’re breezy, alright,_ He thought, _breezy like fucking Monica when she leaves that message on Richard’s answering machine on Friends._ He shrugged and tugged on his ear, “I’m happy for you guys. You deserve it.” Louis said, plowing forward, a tortured smile on his face, his heart in a vise. _Why do emotions have to manifest themselves as physical sensation??_ He thought angrily, _stupid body, stupid world, stupid wonderful boy._ He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and set his empty pint glass on the bar, “Let me get you a beer, yeah? IPA?” 

Harry had nodded, wordlessly, worrying his bottom lip. They hadn’t talked about it since.

 

Nassau Point Road twisted its way out to the end of the peninsula, rising and falling as it went.  They’d reached the bottom of the second to last hill before the beach, when Harry started to laugh softly, the vibration of his body shaking Louis at his side.

“What?” Louis asked.

Harry pointed to the shoulder on the other side of the road. “A couple of years ago. I was still in college” He said, “Gemma and Robin and I decided to walk down to the point one night. It was the weekend, so people were having parties. And there was this couple having sex in that ditch, right over there.” He laughed, shaking his head, “Like, just going at it, right by the side of the road. It was ridiculous because they acted like we were being rude, interrupting them. Gemma was like, ‘oh how romantic, _so_ sorry.’” Harry cackled.

Louis laughed softly, squeezing Harry’s hand. He loved it when Harry talked about his family. Loved the way Harry’s voice got when he did. He loved Harry.

“I bet you were just worrying about them getting hit by a car.” Louis said fondly.

Harry made a little noise, “shut up.” He said, pleased, and Louis knew he was right.

 _Four weeks,_ Louis thought, as they started up the last hill.  The Broken Down Valise had been four weeks ago. Maybe things had changed for Harry since then. Maybe he wanted different things. Maybe he didn’t want this to end either. Things had changed for Louis, in the sense that he only loved Harry even more now than he had before. _Don’t be an idiot._ Niall said in Louis’s head. _Don’t be an idiot. Maybe he’s scared too._ Louis glanced up at Harry and felt terror in his heart. He wasn’t ready.

“So how many jellyfish will there be?” He asked, as they reach the crest of the last hill. Great Peconic Bay was visible now, Robin’s Island a dark shape against the darker sky. 

Harry hummed in response, “Dunno.” He said, “Depends on the year.”

“But there _will_ be jellyfish?”

“There’s always at least one,” Harry assured him.

“One? One measly jellyfish?” Louis asked in mock outrage, “You dragged me all the way down here to see a single blob the size of my hand?”

Harry huffed, “First of all, it would be a single glow-in-the-dark blob the size of your hand, which I personally think is pretty amazing. Second of all, usually it’s a lot more than that, I just didn’t want to oversell it more than I already had. And is this really so terrible? Iridescent jellies or not?” He asked, gesturing to where the bay stretched out before them, the faint moonlight shimmery on the water, the lights of the South Fork twinkling across the expanse.

“No.” Louis choked out, suddenly so full of feeling, overwhelmed by it. He pressed his cheek against Harry’s arm, “No. It’s not.” It wasn’t terrible at all. It was absolutely lovely. So lovely it hurt, being with Harry. And Louis wondered if Harry could hear the strain in his voice, if Harry had any sense at all the Louis was teetering on a dramatic emotional collapse. _You are an idiot and an embarrassment,_ he told himself.

“Kiss me,” he said to Harry, when they reached the end of Nassau Point Road and the top of the stairs down to the beach. He peered up at Harry through his lashes and Harry obliged him, like always, bowing his head and pulling Louis against him with a large hand on the small of his back. Louis was going to miss Harry so much.

“Have sex with me in that ditch?” Louis asked when they broke apart, nodding toward the patch of dirt and sawgrass off their left, where the road ended. Harry snorted out a laugh, jostling Louis’s body with a knee and then heading down the stairs without him.

“I meant it!” Louis called out, before descending the stairs himself.

They walked down the sand to the left, following the long straightaway before the beach veered to the right, the last spit of rocks and sand extending out into the confluence of the Great and Little Peconic Bays. According to Harry, at low tide, you could make it out almost a mile before the water was over your head.

“See any yet?” Louis asked, squinting and looking into the darkened water for flashes of light, for signs of these fabled jellies.

Harry peeked over Louis and looked into the water himself.  He shook his head. Louis took his arm again, using him as a bit of a windbreak as they went along.

They still hadn’t seen a jellyfish by the time they reached that last curve, turning a sloping right and heading due south on the very end of the point. The uneven track of rocks and shells and sand grew ever narrower, water encroaching on both sides as they continued forward. Even without the jellyfish, it was incredible. Both bays were visible at once, extending out in either direction. Up ahead, Louis could see where the point was finally submerged several inches, water crisscrossing over it. The currents were running over and under each other, rushing back and forth between the Great Peconic Bay and the Little. It felt like they’d somehow walked to where the sidewalk ends, that they were suddenly standing at the ends of the earth, surrounded by water, the wind buffeting them from all sides. The sky was huge and inky black above them, like a giant, star-speckled dome.

“It’s amazing.” Louis whispered. And then his breath caught in his throat, and he swatted Harry on the arm, pointing at the water in front of them, jabbing his finger again and again in awed disbelief. There they were, the jellyfish, skating over the rocks ahead of them in the very shallow water, lighting up like fireflies every time they made contact with the ground. It was surreal and so so beautiful.

 “Told you.” Harry said. He wrapped his arms around Louis from behind, tucking his head over his shoulder as they watched the jellyfish rush past, “’s a good year.” He said. Louis could feel him smile. “There are lots.”

“It’s so lovely.” Louis whispered, in hushed awe, placing his hands over top of Harry’s at his waist.

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,”

“’Course.” Harry said.

“Harry?” Louis said, after they’d been standing in silence for quite sometime, breathing in unison, just observing.

“mhmm.”

“I—I—” Louis stuttered, before halting, trying to pause to collect himself. God. Louis wanted to tell Harry he loved him so much. He was needed to. He had too. He couldn’t be an idiot anymore. He couldn’t be a coward. Not when Harry showed him things like this, wanted to share things like this with him. Not when he could feel in his bones that his love for Harry was something permanent, something weighted inside of him that would never fully leave. Even if he didn’t say anything now, it would still be there, the love, always, eating away at him, hollowing him out. For crying out loud, Louis could list off things he loved about Harry like Billy Crystal at the end of _When Harry met Sally_. He was in love with everything about Harry, all of him. Louis loved Harry’s big, kind, blinking green eyes. His yelping seal bark of a laugh, how it was still exactly the same as it had been when Harry was eleven. He loved Harry’s bone deep love for his purple hydrangeas. How he ate tomatoes like apples when someone picked up a particularly good batch from one of the roadside stands. He loved the image he had in his head of Harry’s giant monkey feet as they sat in chairs on the beach, how he’d pick some of the sand up with his toes and then drop it a foot away while he talked, as if he was trying to complete some kind of incredibly slow moving miniature building project. How Harry could absolutely never skip a stone more than twice on the bay, even when they went down the stairs in the morning and the wind was on the other side of the point and the water was still like glass and Louis found him the flattest, smoothest edged, most perfectly sized and weighted slate-like pebble to throw, even then, two skips at the most.  Louis loved how Harry got righteously indignant when talking about social issues. And how he couldn’t resist trying to explain exactly why and how he enjoyed watching the Bachelor. Louis even loved Harry’s slightly ridiculous sense of style, god, it made Louis ache how perfectly _Harry_ that was, too. The shirts unbuttoned one button too many, necklaces and rings and bracelets and wrist watches jangling, scarves in his hair, too tight jeans. All of it fitting Harry and his body just right, just so. Because of course _Harry’s body_ , his long, lean, lanky, strong body, Louis loved that too.  He was completely in love it all, with Harry, wanted it all so much. And he was ridiculous to think he could survive any longer without Harry knowing it.

Louis took a long measured breath, summoning his courage. He wondered idly if Harry could feel his heart pounding where his back was pressed against Harry’s chest, if he’d realized yet that he was basically supporting Louis’s body weight, as he was so dizzy with nerves he could barely stand.

“Yeah Lou?” Harry asked, Louis didn’t know if he was imagining the hope in Harry’s voice, the hint of encouragement in it.  

“I.” He croaked, “I lied about the Adventure Squad notebook, Harry. I still have it. At my mum’s in Doncaster. It’s under my bed.”

Harry made a surprised noise. “Oh.” He said weakly, with a strange little laugh, like he wasn’t sure how to react. “Ok. That’s. That’s great, Louis.” He shook his head, sighing, his arms loosening around Louis’s waist “Uh. Maybe we should—”

“And—And I love you.” Louis blurted out miserably, voice thick with emotion. He turned around and took Harry’s face in his hands, looking up at him in the dark, “I love you—I love you so so much. And I need you to know. I—It’s killing me, Harry. And I don’t-I can’t. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but—but-”

He stopped talking abruptly when he heard Harry take a jagged inhalation of breath, his whole body tensing and then trembling under Louis’s hands.

“Lou.” He said, his voice broken, breathless and almost wretched. He pressed his forehead against Louis’s and gave a single strangled laugh, “Louis, Louis, Louis,” He said it like a tearful litany, “I love you too.” He breathed out, in what sounded like complete and utter relief, “I-I love you too.” He said again, his breath hitching. He pulled Louis in against his chest, breathing out heavily through his nose, “God. Louis.  I wanted to say—to say it so many times.” He gave another tearful laugh, this time so full of happiness it made Louis’s skin hurt, sparks dancing down his spine.

“Should have forced you down here to see the jellyfish weeks ago.” Harry murmured into Louis’s hair with a giggle.

Louis felt like his throat was being closed up by joy, tears springing to the corners of his eyes, as he laughed against Harry’s body, weak with relief.

He pulled back and then pushed up on his tip toes, curling a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and kissing him slowly, smiling into it, his heart absolutely aching with love. He felt like he might die of lust and happiness as Harry pulled their bodies flush against each other and murmured Louis’s name before deepening the kiss in that perfect, perfect way he always did. This time being the most perfect of all, of course.

 

The way back from the point took them considerably longer than the way there, since there was frequent stopping for kissing and hugging and dopily staring into each other’s eyes under the glow that the rich people’s security lights occasionally cast out into the road.

“Bet you wish we had driven down here, now.” Louis had said, when they reached the stairs up from the beach.

“Bet you actually want to have sex in that ditch.” Harry retorted.

And Louis had shrugged and raised his eyebrows, like he was really considering it, and they had both laughed.  

When they got back to the house, Harry spread Louis out on his bed and kissed the length of his body before fucking him long and slow, whispering that he loved him the whole time. Louis moaned out Harry’s name as he came and they lay together in the dark afterward, shivering with happiness and talking about everything they’d been afraid to before.

“I wanted to tell you so many times, Louis.” Harry whispered, his breath ghosting up Louis’s neck, sending chills down his spine and curling his toes. “But I—I thought you were happy with it for just the summer, after—after the Valise. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“No, Hazza. No, I thought the same thing. About you. I mean, I thought that’s what you wanted, too. But I didn’t. Not ever. It was so stupid,” Louis said, shaking his head, “I loved you right away, right from the start. Since the night you burnt the tacos. Before that even, if I’m being honest.”

“Couldn’t believe it when I first saw you, again.” Harry said, quiet laughter rumbling against Louis’s back, “When Nialler brought you back from the airport. I was like, fuck, I guess some things never change.” They both giggled.

“I was scared.” They said at once, after a pause. And then they snuggled even closer together and Louis didn’t think he’d ever felt so safe in his entire life.

“I’m going to miss you,” Harry said, his voice sad and wavering. He kissed the back of Louis’s neck. “So much.”

 “Me too, Haz, so much. I love you so much.” Louis said. He swallowed over the lump of emotion in his throat.

“We’ll get a proper apartment in December, right when I get back.” Harry said. Harry and Niall had helped Louis move most of his things into the closet sized, shithole of an apartment he was subletting, a few days before. Louis had been dreading moving all the way in.

“Alright?” Harry asked.

Louis nodded, feeling like joy was radiating off his body, like he might literally be glowing.

“I’m so happy, Harry.” He whispered, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“Me too, Louis,” Harry said. He shook his head and laughed in disbelief, “Me too.”

 

 

 


End file.
